


The Huntress

by Theoroark



Series: Overwatch Gothic [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Background McGenji, Background Symmeitra, F/F, Getting Together, Junkenstein's Revenge Universe, Magic, Vampires, background r76
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-07-18 12:18:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16118303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theoroark/pseuds/Theoroark
Summary: When the Widow woke up on the morning of October 1, she knew with instant clarity what she could not remember. Her husband’s drained and lifeless body was in the bed next to her and she knew she had done that, under the thrall of whoever had turned her into a vampire. But she did not know who that person was or how she had been turned. And she could not remember her husband’s name, or her own.-A Halloween story about life and death.





	1. The Vampire

When the Widow woke up on the morning of October 1, she knew with instant clarity what she could not remember. Her husband’s drained and lifeless body was in the bed next to her and she knew she had done that, under the thrall of whoever had turned her into a vampire. But she did not know who that person was or how she had been turned. And she could not remember her husband’s name, or her own. 

 

She remembered most other things, she thought. She knew she was on the outskirts of Adelsbrunn, and that Adelsbrunn didn't take kindly to dark creatures. She remembered a childhood spent seeing the staked hearts of vampires hung from the city walls as a warning. She remembered that the Witch of the Order was no one to be trifled with. 

 

She also remembered the Witch of the Wilds. And so when night fell, the Widow made her way deep into the forest that was just past the mansion’s grounds. 

 

She did not take a horse but she found that she was moving quickly even without one, that her feet barely seemed to touch the forest floor. She saw as clearly as it was day, as well. She supposed this was not without its disadvantages, though she already felt hungry again, and that concerned her. 

 

Dark creatures gathered around the Witch, safe under her protection. The Widow knew she was seen before she laid eyes on one of them. She sensed presences in the shadows that even her new vision could not penetrate. And so she slowed to a walk. Soon she reached a clearing in the forest, where the trees arranged themselves in a perfect circle and the grasses were cut into an arcane symbol. The wind picked up and the witch descended from the sky on her broom, and held her arms open once she had dismounted. 

 

“Welcome,” she said, with a graceful smile. 

 

“I’m not looking to stay,” the Widow informed her, and the Witch’s smile disappeared. 

 

“Then what are you looking for?”

 

“The person who turned me.”

 

The Widow felt the presences in the shadows draw closer, though still out of sight. The Witch cast a warning glance to her side. “No one here did it,” she said. “I only grant asylum to those who do no harm.”

 

“And no one’s ever broken that promise?” the Widow asked. 

 

The Witch was silent for a moment, and then she said, “Whoever turned you was able to do so because they were far stronger than you. Whatever you want to do to them, you won’t be able to achieve. If you stay here, I can protect you from them. I can give you magical sustenance. You won’t have to kill. You’ll be safe.”

 

“Whoever did this to me, I want them dead,” the Widow said. “If I stay here, you won’t let me kill, will you?”

 

“No,” the Witch said. And so the Widow turned her back and walked away. As got further from the Witch, she felt more and more alone, until the world was dark and quiet again. Except for one presence, one that was silent and strange enough that she could have been imagining it, that felt all the world like a star hanging too low. 

 

-

 

The Widow stayed on her grounds as long as she could. But her hunger grew terrible. She tried feeding on the rats in the cellar and then the deer in the garden, but their blood was watery and unsatisfying. So her fifth night as a vampire, she made her way to Adelsbrunn. 

 

The last rogue vampire coven the city had borne had been killed when the Widow was a child. But she remembered they hunted in the slums, where the Order had less of a presence. She remembered her mother warning her to look both ways before she crossed the street and then look up, because vampires liked to perch on rooftops and swoop down on their prey. So the Widow crawled over shingles, searching for an easy mark. She found one soon enough, a drunkard slumped against an alley wall. But before she could pounce, a shape materialized from the shadows. 

 

It was a tall man, dressed in a fine black cloak and boots, with a bone white mask. He was strikingly familiar and before the Widow could puzzle out how for herself, he demonstrated for her. He sunk the teeth of the mask into the drunkard’s neck in a manner that the Widow had never witnessed or practiced, but looked as natural to her as breathing. He hovered over the body for a minute, fangs dug in, before he rose and looked up to her. 

 

“Drink fast,” he said, his voice harsh and gravelly. “There’s a patrol coming.” Then he melted into the shadows, as quickly as he had come. 

 

The Widow stared down at the body. It was lifeless but still ruddy. There was not a drop of blood on the pavement around it. The man acted like a vampire, looked like a vampire, smelled like a vampire. She did not know why he was not feeding like a vampire. 

 

But she was so, so hungry. And so she did not think anymore, she just jumped from the rooftop and sank her teeth into the corpse’s neck and drank. They were, indeed, so full of heady blood that it made the Widow nearly dizzy. It certainly entranced her so much that she did not hear the patrol until one of the cocked their pistol. 

 

She looked up and heard one of them hiss, “Idiot,” before a shot rang out and she narrowly dodged a flash of silver. She looked followed the smoke trail back to its source. There were three of them, and one of her. She was furious and still hungry but she was not an idiot. She leapt to the rooftops– she heard another shot and smelled smouldering silver from the spot she had just been– and she ran. 

 

She did not stop running until she closed the manor door behind her. Then she sank down and buried her head in her hands. She was still hungry. She still had no idea who did this to her. She still did not know her own name. She didn't know what to do about any of this. 

 

There was a knock on the door. 

 

The Widow jumped up and stared at the heavy oak. There was no rattling of force. No words of warning or weedling flattery from the other side. Just silence and then, after a moment, another knock. The Widow should not open the door, she knew that much. The Order could have tracked her back here. It could be whoever had turned her, and she knew she wasn't ready to face them yet. 

 

But she didn't know what else to do, so she opened the door. Standing on the other side was a short woman in a brown cowl. She had a brilliant smile and where her eyes should have been, there was starlight. 

 

“My name is Sombra,” the woman said. “And I think we could help each other out.”

 

-

 

Sombra was not starlight, the Widow found. She was magic. Mundane magic glimmered, of course, Widow had grown up with sparks of healing spells mending her bones and rushing to see royal processions in the streets, glowing blue with protective magic. But Sombra was a lich, and liches were magic through and through. Her magic was the fabric of her being and so Sombra did not wear the light like a coat of armor, it leaked out of her through her skin and clothes. 

 

“You know not everyone can do this, right?” Sombra asked. The Widow nodded shortly. She may not have studied magic when she had been alive but she was not an idiot. She knew liches were exceptionally rare, that one had not been reported in centuries. She knew Sombra would have to be immensely skilled, both to have turned herself and to have avoided detection. 

 

Sombra sat down in the Widow’s favorite arm chair, right beside the empty fireplace. She snapped her fingers and the hearth filled with white flames, and Sombra gestured for the Widow to take a seat on her own sofa. 

 

The Widow may have wished that Sombra was a touch less aware of her skill. 

 

“You’re an undead creature now,” Sombra said. “A vampire. Recently turned, too.”

 

“I’m aware,” the Widow said. Sombra smiled at her pleasantly. 

 

“Do you know who turned you?” she asked. 

 

“No,” the Widow said. “Do you?”

 

“No,” Sombra said, and the Widow’s heart sank but Sombra continued unabated. “I’ve only come here recently. I know of some of the entities, but no Coven Lords.” The Widow nodded mutely. “If you want to find one, you’ll need to spend time in the city. Study the patterns of who’s being hunted. Maybe speak to the Order. But you’re new and don’t even know magic. You barely escaped with your life tonight. And they’ll be looking for you now. The second you step foot in the walls, they’ll eliminate you.”

 

“Are you telling me this so I’ll give up?” the Widow asked. Sombra shook her head and leaned forward. The Widow noticed the white flames followed her movement. 

 

“I’m telling you this because I can help you,” Sombra said. “I’m more powerful than all the Order combined. I can cast protections on you that you could waltz in there and feed on the king and they would be helpless to stop you. With my help, you can find who turned you. And hell,” she leaned back and crossed her legs, and the fire retreated to the heart. “I can’t promise anything, because Coven Lords are tricky. But I’d say between the two of us, we stand a good chance of killing one, if that’s what you want.”

 

Sombra smiled at her broadly and waited. The Widow said nothing and thought back to her grandmother taking her to a market and telling her that nothing was ever truly free, that people only gave you things if they wanted something in return. 

 

“And what do you want?” she asked. Sombra’s smile did not so much as flicker. 

 

“Your library,” she said. The Widow blinked. 

 

“My library?”

 

“Yes. I suppose you’re a bit used to it, growing up with it and all, but the Guillard library is among the largest in the world.” The name Guillard danced before the Widow and it felt like it fit well, but she also knew it was not her name, even if she did not know what she wore instead. “I don’t plan on taking anything from it, or destroying anything in it. But I’d like unfettered access, in exchange for my services.”

 

“You know my family,” the Widow said slowly. Sombra cocked her head. 

 

“Yes? Like I said, your library is quite well known–”

 

“You know my name,” the Widow interrupted, and for the first time, she saw Sombra falter. Her smile disappeared and her starlight eyes no longer met her own. Then Sombra raised her head and her light was undiminished. 

 

“I cared about the books,” she said. “Not the people who owned them.”

 

It was an evasion and the Widow did not appreciate it. She remembered her grandmother posing her a riddle: what is the thing that everything in the universe possesses? She and her cousins had discussed it for some time and their answers had been shot down. A soul? No, a rock had no soul. The light of magic? No, newborns had not been exposed. Finally her grandmother took pity and gave them the answer: a name. For something to be recognized as a part of their world, it had to be given a name. She had lost hers, and taken up this poor title in its stead. It would seem to her she was owed as much as rocks and infants. 

 

Sombra was waiting patiently. In the window over her shoulder, the Widow could see the garden plot where she had buried her husband, and then the lights of Adelsbrunn. Her grandmother had told her to never trust the undead. But the Widow was undead now, and besides, she did not know what else to do. She held out her hand. 

 

“I accept your offer,” she told Sombra. Sombra clasped her hand and the fire jumped from the hearth and wrapped around their twined arms, hot but not burning. Sombra’s eyes turned black and then the flames did. Then they gathered around Widow’s forearm and sunk into her skin and now the fire burned, terribly so. She wanted to scream, she wanted to let go of Sombra’s hand, but she could not move. The black fire clouded out her vision and then cleared, and then the pain was gone. Sombra let go of her hand and the Widow looked down at her forearm. There was a cracked black web there now. She looked up to Sombra. 

 

“Notice anything different?” Sombra asked. The Widow waved her arm and Sombra rolled her eyes. “Yes, yes. Anything else different?”

 

The Widow thought a moment and then her eyes widened. “I’m not hungry anymore,” she said. Sombra nodded. 

 

“I’ll have to give you more about once a week, but not eating civilians should help endear you to the Order.” She stood up and walked past the Widow. The Widow turned around, looking between her arm and the lich. 

 

“Where are you going?” she asked. Sombra stopped and smiled back at her. 

 

“That’s the first part of my end of the deal,” she said. “The sun’s rising. You weren’t going to be doing anything but moping now anyway. It’s time for me to read.”


	2. The Magistrate

The Widow did not disturb Sombra for most of the day but by evening, she grew restless. She made her way to the library in the basement and knocked on the door. She heard “Come in,” and felt a stab of irritation at being granted permission to enter a room in her own home before opening the door and walking in. 

 

She hadn’t spent too much time in the library, finding it boring as a child and having little use for it as an adult. But Sombra’s transformation of it was unmistakable. The lanterns around the room were lit up in white flame. Bookshelves stretched to the vaulted ceilings and scattered among those were glowing spots of white magic that, upon closer inspection, were revealed to be books pulled out of their homes. And in the center of the room was Sombra, levitating cross-legged a few inches in the air, surrounded by floating books and glowing runes.

 

“Good evening,” Sombra said, without looking up from her book. Her cowl was pushed down and so now Widow could see her partially-shaved head and her furrowed brow. “How was your day?”

 

“Fine,” the Widow said. She walked towards Sombra carefully, avoiding the texts that wobbled in the air. “Night’s coming, though, and I was planning on going to the city again. I wanted to confirm that it will be safe for me to go.”

 

“No,” Sombra said.

 

“No?”   
  


“No.” Finally, Sombra looked up. The books around her gently floated to the ground, and the runes stacked themselves into a neat pile as she stood. “Before, I just gave you sustenance. I still need to perform the actual protection spell.”

 

“Why didn’t you do it then?” the Widow asked.

 

“I wanted to make sure the deal was good,” Sombra said serenely. “And don’t worry. It is.” She gestured around the room. “There’s plenty for me to look through here.”   
  


“Fantastic,” the Widow said. “So…?”

 

“Yes, yes.” Sombra looked around the room, then made her way to a large oak desk. She waved a hand and the papers and pens on it disappeared. “Lie down and take off your shirt,” she told the Widow. The Widow stared, vaguely aware her mouth was hanging slightly open, and for the second she seemed to have caught Sombra off guard as well. She quickly turned her back. “I am, ah, sorry. I won’t look, if that’s a concern.”

 

“Thank you,” the Widow muttered, and made her way over to the desk. She sat on the wood and removed her jacket, then her vest. She untied her necktie and, after a pause, unbuttoned her shirt and lay down on the desk. The cold air didn’t bother her anymore, but she still shivered.

 

“You’re good?” Sombra asked.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Okay.” Sombra laid a hand on her upper back, fingers splayed between her shoulder blades. The Widow remembered the healers she had been to as a child, how their magic felt like lumpen worms crawling into her skin. Sombra’s was nothing like that. It was sharp and hot and fast, and it seemed to be drawing something out of her, instead of putting something in.

 

“What are you doing?” the Widow asked.

 

“A protection spell.” The Widow rolled her eyes.

 

“I know that. I mean, how are you doing it.”

 

“I don’t think you’d understand.”

 

“Try me.”

 

Sombra laughed softly and took her hand off her back. The cold did not bother her, but she still found herself missing the warmth of Sombra’s magic. 

 

“I need some of your being for the spell,” Sombra told her. “Otherwise it won’t take.” The Widow nodded and laid her head on her side. She could see Sombra working now. There was a ball of white light in front of her that she was molding, muttering to herself softly as she did. The Widow felt her hair stand on end and the air grow charged around them, and then the light began to take shape. It divided into connected segments, then four long spines erupted from either side. They grew then bent, and then the light turned black and red. The Widow took in a sharp breath. Sombra held a large spider in her hands.

 

“I can make it a different form, if you don’t like how it looks,” Sombra said. “But the spider brings discretion and security. I thought that would suit you well.”

 

“That sounds fine,” the Widow said. “What does it matter what it looks like?”

 

Sombra smiled and the spider walked out of her hands, through the air, and onto the Widow. She resisted every impulse to squirm as the spider centered itself on her spine, but she still jolted when the sharp heat of Sombra’s magic erupted from its points of contact.

 

“Easy,” Sombra murmured. “It’ll be over fast.”

 

It was. In a moment, the sensation and the ephemeral weight of the spider were gone. The Widow felt her back. She traced out the barely raised outline of the spider right above her neck. 

 

“You tattooed me,” she said. “Again.” Sombra laughed.

 

“That’s the last one, I promise.” She walked around the desk, and the clothes the Widow had discarded on the floor appeared next to her. “I could put another one on your leg, but I don’t think you need that, and your tone tells me you’re a bit tired of my accessorizing.”

 

“You could have warned me,” the Widow said. Sombra hummed.

 

“What difference would that have made?”

 

The Widow did not have a good answer for that, so she simply sat up and reached for her shirt. She caught Sombra staring and looking away, and remembered that she was supposed to be uncomfortable. She dressed quickly and stood.

 

“Well, now you’re ready for a night out,” Sombra said. She walked back to the center of the library and sat down, and her books and runes gathered around her once more. “Be back before dawn now, or else I’ll fret.”

 

“Yes,” the Widow said. “Thank you.” Sombra looked up from her books, studied the Widow’s face, and smiled.

 

“Of course,” she said. “Good luck.” The Widow did not feel like thanking her again, so she simply nodded and left.

 

-

 

There were more guards along the Adelsbrunn city walls than there had been the previous night. The Widow imagined that had something to do with her, but no one raised any alarm as she approached, and the gateman let her pass with no questions. She ran a hand absently over her shoulder blades. Maybe she would not, in fact, regret this deal.

 

The Witch of the Wilds had not known who had turned her, but she was not the only one who dealt with dark beings. And now that the Widow was no longer perceived as one, she could make better use of the Order. She walked briskly down the city streets, towards the temple at the city’s heart. She drew strange looks from the people she passed and assumed this was due to her fine clothes, until she felt a clawed hand on her shoulder and heard, “Careful.”

 

She spun and hissed but the masked vampire simply chuckled in response. She looked at him, then looked around. The street they were on was empty, and there were few windows for people to peer out of. She wondered how long he had been following her, waiting for the ideal location to speak. 

 

“When you move too fast, you float,” he said. He spoke quietly, but his harsh voice cut through the silence. “Your spell keeps people from seeing your dark magic. It doesn’t keep them from seeing what’s unnatural. So. Be careful.”

 

And before the Widow could say a word, he melted into the shadows. She stared at the spot he had been, and then continued, walking more carefully now. 

 

She made it to the temple later than she would have liked, but it was the middle of the night. She would have found the front desk empty even if she had arrived ten minutes earlier. She knocked on the desk’s surface, and when that got no response, called, “Hello?”

 

She heard footsteps on the right stairwell, but when she looked over, there was nothing, even with her keen eyes. She scanned the foyer once more and then made her way up the stairs. 

 

The temple was the oldest building in the city. The Widow had only ever been in the forum, and only then for her grandmother’s funeral. The forum had been filled with glass and light but this part of the temple was heavy with stone. She imagined that if she had come here as a human, she would not have been able to navigate her way down the darkened hall unimpeded. She surveyed all the doors she passed. They all seemed uninhabited as well, but at the end of the hallway, she could see pink light streaming down over a thin spiral staircase. She had taken her first step when she heard a click and, “That’s far enough.”

 

The Widow turned and saw a man in the black and silver jacket of an Order Magistrate. He was frowning at his pistol. She frowned down at it too. He raised his head and as he did, the shadow of the brim of his hat faded, and she could see the black asymmetrical X over one of his eyes.

 

“You shouldn’t be here,” the Magistrate said.

 

“I had a question for a member of the Order,” the Widow said.

 

“No,” the Magistrate said. “You shouldn’t be here.” He holstered his pistol and took a step towards her, and the Widow noticed for the first time how his gauntlet glowed orange. “Where did you come from?”

 

“I don’t–” The Widow’s answer was cut off by a voice from above the staircase.

 

“McCree? What’s going on?”

 

The Magistrate swore under his breath, then glared at the Widow. “Reckon you’d have to see her eventually, I suppose,” he said to her, and then yelled, “I got something for you, Pharah.” He marched over to the Widow and grabbed her by the arm, and pulled her towards the staircase. The Widow considered resisting– she felt quite a bit stronger than she had been as a human– but she had wanted to speak to the Order, and if her memory served her right, there was no one better she could speak to.

 

Sure enough, when the reached the top of the staircase, the Widow found herself in a study bathed in pink light. The room was round and bordered by windows overlooking the city, though the Widow could not recall ever seeing light from this point of the temple. There were bookshelves lining the walls and in the center a desk, and behind the desk the source of the light. A woman in purple armor alight with pink flame looked up from her papers and set down her pen.

 

“Who is this, McCree?” asked the Witch of the Order.

 

“I was hoping you could help me with that,” McCree said. The witch turned her fiery eyes to her and the Widow straightened and cleared her throat.

 

“I need to speak with–”

 

“What is your name?” Pharah asked. The Widow said nothing and Pharah raised an eyebrow. “Well?”

 

“I don’t know,” the Widow said.

 

“She’s not lying,” McCree said, sounding quite shocked. The Widow knew she should have been offended, but could not really blame him. Pharah frowned.

 

“You were put under a thrall,” she stated.

 

“Yes,” the Widow said.

 

“And you don’t know who did it.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And you came here to see if we know.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Well, we don’t.” Pharah shuffled some papers and ran her hand through her thick, dark purple hair. “The Order has had no reports of covens–,” she paused and looked up at McCree, who nodded in confirmation, “–and your hunt was the first vampire activity we’ve heard of in quite some time.” The Widow looked down at the floor and Pharah laughed drily. “Are you denying that you killed a man last night?”

 

“Do you have evidence it was me?” the Widow asked. McCree snorted.

 

“This ain’t going to work for you like you think it is,” he said. He tapped the X on his eye and grinned. “I see bullshit real well.”

 

“This is all beside the point,” Pharah said. “Because we can’t apprehend you.” McCree’s smile disappeared and Pharah steepled her fingers. “You’re very talented necromancer, aren’t you?” 

 

She watched the Widow and the Widow realized she expected an answer. McCree hooked his fingers in his belt and the Widow could swear she caught a flash of orange in his eye.

 

“I do alright for myself,” she said. Pharah sighed and stood up from the desk. Her armor made no noise as she moved, and when she turned, the Widow could see her great purple wings folded against her back.

 

“We can’t help you,” Pharah said. “And we can’t arrest you. But I can give you some advice. We are persistent, and determined. And we will find you if we make breakthroughs in either one of those causes. So if I were you, I would stay out of Adelsbrunn.” 

 

The Witch put a hand on her shoulder and her fire was cold. The Widow nodded and Pharah smiled and let her go. “McCree,” she said. “Show our guest out, please?”

 

“Gladly,” he said. He pushed off the wall he had been leaning on and walked towards the spiral staircase. The Widow looked around the room one more time, and then hurried to follow.

 

“The Witch gave you some good advice,” McCree said when they had returned to the foyer. “But let you give me some of my own.” 

 

“I didn’t ask,” the Widow said shortly.

 

McCree ignored her. “Don’t kill unless you need to,” he said.

 

“And why is that?” the Widow asked.

 

“Because something’s wrong with death right now,” he said. “It’s sick. The natural order’s disturbed. You kill a person, you’re not just ending their life. You’re adding to a big-ass mess, one that’s going to be hell to clean up.”

 

“You said you couldn’t kill me,” the Widow said. “Why should I do what you want?”

 

McCree’s face twisted into some cross between a snarl and a smile, and he laughed harshly. “Just thought you might care about the eternal fate of your victims, is all.” He shook his head. “You know, she can give me the damn eye. But my sentimentality’ll still blind me every time.”

 

He spun on his heels and walked up the stairs, and the Widow exited the temple.

 

-

 

She made her way to the wall with no problem but as she approached the gate, she saw a one-eyed woman sitting on a bench and staring at her. The Widow had noticed that ever since she had slowed to a human pace, people seemed almost unaware of her presence, to the point where several had bumped into her and continued without saying a word. She had assumed it was part of Sombra’s protection. Even the woman’s companion, an older man dressed in the red uniform of a field medic from the war, seemed to be paying her no mind. But the woman fixed her with her one, tattooed eye.

 

“You there,” she said, when the Widow drew close. The medic looked up, then started as he seemed to notice the Widow for the first time. “What’s your name?”

 

The Widow said nothing and continued walking. “You shouldn’t trust Sombra, you know,” the woman called after her.

 

The Widow stopped and turned. “What did you say?” she asked, in a low voice.

 

The woman gave her a crooked smile. As the Widow drew closer, she could see the woman’s clothes were baggy and ratty, patched billowy pants, and old white shirt and blue vest, and a long black cape. She was old, her white hair in a long braid. She seemed all the world like a beggar. But the air around her was heavy.

 

“Don’t trust Sombra,” the woman repeated. “I don’t know what she told you she was after, but she only looks out for herself. It’s a shame what’s happened to you, and I don’t blame you seeking help. But there’s not much you can do now, and she’ll only get you into more trouble.” 

 

The medic was looking between them with narrowed eyes. The Widow swallowed a lump in her throat. “Who are you?” she asked.

 

“Just a corsair,” the woman said. She stood, and the medic followed up her with a grunt. “I’ll let you know if I can help you,” she said. “It’d be nice if you gave me the same courtesy.”

 

The Widow turned and walked away. She could feel the pirate’s tattooed eye on her back, long after she had exited the city walls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tbc McCree's wearing the Van Helsing skin but that's not as cool a title.


	3. The Oasis

“I wasn’t lying either,” McCree said. “I haven’t heard so much as a breath about any covens. I don’t know where she came from.” 

 

Pharah sighed, twisting her pen in her hands. “You may not have heard of one,” she said. “But I have.”

 

McCree turned from the window he had been looking out of and stared at Pharah in surprise. “You have? From whom?” Pharah said nothing and he groaned. “Well, shit.”

 

“Whatever she did to herself, she hadn’t done it when she saw Angela,” Pharah murmured. “But she was telling the truth.” McCree nodded. “And there’s something deeper here than just a coven.”

 

“Coven alone would be a shitstorm,” McCree said. Pharah snorted.

 

“What’s bigger than a shitstorm, then? A shitnado?”

 

“Stick to magic, not wordplay,” McCree said, and yelped as Pharah flicked a pink flame in his direction. He patted down his jacket and glared at her as she smiled back at him. “So. We going out to the woods, then?”

 

“Yes. I told Angela I’d let her know if I saw her. And she’ll be more helpful than the Order here.” Pharah walked to the windows and laid her hand on the glass. The ring glowed pink and then disappeared. She turned to McCree. “Do you want me to give you a piggyback ride, or shall I carry you again?”

 

McCree crossed his arms. “This is humiliating,” he grumbled.

 

“You love it,” Pharah informed him, and then scooped him up and jumped out of the tower.

 

-

 

“We’re here,” Pharah announced. McCree looked down at the circular clearing, then at the woods beyond them. His eye let him see flashes of dark magic among the trees, but the witch had done her work cloaking the place. 

 

There was a flash of dark magic in the center of the clearing, and the Witch of the Wilds appeared. She tilted her head up, grinned, and waved, and McCree could hear Pharah’s breath hitch. She tucked in her wings and swooped down in a steep descent– McCree grabbed on to his hat to keep it from flying off– and as soon as she landed in front of the Witch, she leaned in and kissed her. McCree shrank down as far as he could.

 

“I’m still here,” he said. Pharah dropped him on the ground and used her now free hands to cup the Witch’s face. McCree rolled his eyes and crawled out from between them. 

 

“I need to buy myself a damn horse,” he muttered, then coughed loudly. “Pharah? Angela? Hate to interrupt, but we did come here for a reason.”

 

“You love to interrupt,” Angela said, as Pharah pulled back with a sigh.

 

“We really do need to talk, though,” Pharah said. Her hands slid down to Angela’s waist as Angela played with a strand of her hair. McCree tapped his boot. “The vampire that you told me about, she did end up being brought to me.”

 

“I thought she would,” Angela said. She looked over Pharah’s shoulder, to McCree. “Did you…?”

 

“Couldn’t,” he said. Her brow furrowed.    
  


“‘Couldn’t?’” 

 

“I’m guessing when she came to you, you didn’t see any magic on her?” Pharah asked. 

 

Angela shook her head. “The undead energy and some lingering signs of thrall, but I’m guessing that’s not what you’re talking about.”

 

“No,” Pharah said. “Whatever she got involved in, it’s something big. And you said, the person you thought was behind it…”

 

Angela withdrew her hand and rested it against her own cheek. Pharah frowned in concern. “I know,” Angela said softly. “I was just very much hoping this wasn’t it.”

 

Pharah moved in closer, and Angela leaned slightly against her. “It’s okay,” Pharah said. “You’re not dealing with this alone, okay? I’ll be here the whole time.”

 

McCree coughed again, this time distinctly more awkwardly. “And uh, you know. Me too.” 

 

Both witches jumped and Angela flashed him a guilty smile. “Yes. Thank you, Jesse. Really.” She and Pharah finally broke apart, and she walked towards him, to the trees at his back. “So? We’ll need to go into the sanctuary to talk.” 

 

He swept his arm out magnanimously. “Lead the way.”

 

Angela took a step into the trees, and they flickered and faded away. Instead of shadowy undergrowth, clearings bubbled up, then small houses and modest buildings came into view. At a large campfire in the center of the structures, McCree could make out forms sitting on benches, turning in their direction.

 

Angela held up a hand. “Friends!” she called, and one of the figures that had risen sat back down. Still, glowing red eyes blinked in their direction, like devilish cats. McCree’s hand slid to peacekeeper as they approached. 

 

When they reached the fireside, he could identify them more clearly. There was a draconic demon resting her hand on her chin, inspecting them carefully. An old vampire, the kind with red cheeks and a nice suit, was nestled up next to her, her cheerful smile undermining any intimidation the demon intended to convey. And on the other side of the fire, an Oni demon stood up and pointed at McCree.

 

“He’s part of the order,” he said. The other demon dropped her hand and the vampire sat up straight.

 

“So is Pharah,” Angela said calmly. “He’s with her. I trust him.” The Oni remained standing. “He won’t be here long. But I’m leaving him alone with you. So, Genji. Please.” 

 

The Oni gave a short nod, then sat down with his arms crossed. Angela turned to the other two dark beings. “Satya. I need to fetch something.”

 

“His kind’s killed many of mine,” the draconic demon said. “And you’re leaving him with us, unattended?”

 

“Not unattended,” Genji said quietly. Angela shot him a warning look over her shoulder.

 

“We’ll only be gone a bit. And Satya. Have you ever known me to put you in harm’s way?”

 

Satya stood, then leaned down and whispered something to the vampire. She nodded and then began hopping away from the fire. Satya gave McCree a meaningful look and then pulled a red, circular rift from the air before her. It hovered there, humming softly. 

 

“Thank you,” Angela said. “I can close it. You can go back to Mei, if you’d like.” Satya nodded and gave Pharah and McCree one more disapproving once over. Then she followed after Mei, who had not gotten far but was still doggedly hopping. Angela held out her hand and Pharah took it, and together they walked through the portal. Genji waited until they had disappeared, and then positioned himself in front of it.

 

“What are you doing?” McCree asked.

 

“Guarding,” Genji said. His posture was ramrod straight, hands clasped behind his back. McCree walked up to the portal and stood next to him, spreading his legs to edge his way in. Genji rolled his eyes. “You know we couldn’t kill her, even if we wanted to.”

 

“Maybe not,” McCree said. “But I know that she may not be loved here, but I love her. So I’m not going to abide you so much as spitting in her direction.”

 

Genji looked at him strangely for a moment, then scoffed. “Neither of you have anything to fear. We’re terrified of her. We harm her, we kill you, she’ll raze this place to the ground.” 

 

“No she wouldn’t,” McCree said. Genji glanced at him sideways, but his tattooed eye remained pitch black. “She sees the value in this place, in you lot getting to stick around. And she and Angela have an agreement. Pharah keeps her word. She keeps order, no matter what.”

 

“You threatened me,” Genji pointed out. “You’re not part of that agreement?”

 

“Yeah, I am,” McCree said. “But I’d still do it.” He pulled out a cigar from a pouch on his belt, dipped it into the orange light in his gauntlet, and pulled it away smoking. “And that’s why you’re scared of Pharah, and not me.”

 

-

 

As Pharah stepped into the glowing red featureless expanse, she shivered. Angela looked back at her and winced sympathetically. “I know you don’t like these places,” she said.

 

“It’s fine,” Pharah said. She rolled her neck. “They’re just so… small.”

 

“We won’t be here long, I promise.” Angela knelt down and whispered a word, and a flame bloomed in her hands. She dropped it to the ground and it fizzled out immediately, leaving behind a scroll. 

 

“Every dark being that I give asylum to, I have them sign an oath,” Angela said. She picked up the scroll and sat cross-legged. Pharah knelt beside her. “They can’t harm any being, magical or mortal. They get sustenance from me. They don’t give away the sanctuary. In exchange, I protect them.”

 

“I know,” Pharah said. “And you said…”

 

“Just one, since I’ve known you,” Angela said softly. She held the scroll out to Pharah and Pharah took it and stared at the bleeding signature at the bottom. “She came to me, told me she had been cursed, that the Order thought she was a dark spirit. I brought her in. That night, she cast a spell over Mei, forced her to turn her.” Angela shook her head, her blonde bangs falling over her eyes. “You don’t know Mei that well, I don’t think, but she’s the gentlest soul in the world. Never wanted to hurt anyone. Never wanted to be a vampire. She’s happy now, here, but–”

 

Angela’s voice caught and Pharah laid a hand on her back. “If she said she was being pursued the Order, why didn’t you come to me?” she asked carefully.

 

“I should have. I know that. I’m sorry.” Angela tilted her head up to Pharah, who brushed the hair from her eyes. “I just thought I could take care of it myself, I’d tell you later, no one had ever done something like this before–”

 

“It’s okay. I’m not mad. Now we know who this is.” She ran a finger along the bloody letters. “‘Moira,’” she read. “And she didn’t sign her last name.”

 

“I forget people have those sometimes,” Angela admitted. Pharah laughed and kissed her temple.

 

“It’s not that common a name. I can work with it.” She stood and extended her hand to Angela, who took it and let her pull her up. “So. Are you ready to go back?”

 

“Yes,” Angela said. “Thank you.” Pharah gave her a quizzical look. 

 

“You’re the one who figured this out. I should be thanking you.”

 

“No,” Angela said quietly. “Thank you.” Pharah swallowed and kissed her forehead again, and then they stepped through the portal together.

 

-

 

McCree saw the glimmers of the witches’ magic start to form in the portal, and so he moved clear of it. Genji, on the other hand, held fast to his post, and so the two women ran into his back as they exited. 

 

Angela gave him a strange look. “What were you doing?”

 

“Guar–” Genji sighed and shook his head. “Nothing. Whatever.” 

 

McCree made eye contact with Pharah. “Did you two–”

 

“Yes,” Angela responded. She held out her hand and her broom materialized in it. When she tapped the portal, it closed in on itself with a fizz. “I’ll walk you two out. We can talk then.”

 

“We have a name,” Pharah said once they were out of earshot of the village, though McCree noted Genji kept them fixed in his gaze. “Moira.”

 

“Moira,” McCree repeated. He puffed on his cigar thoughtfully. “Doesn’t ring any bells right away. Any more information on her?”

 

“She’s skilled in dark magic,” Angela said. “She was able to deceive me, and control Mei.”

 

“And the vampire we met with,” Pharah pointed out. Angela nodded.

 

“She probably sought to be turned to get immortality, but she was plenty powerful before that. She’ll only have grown stronger since.”

 

“Well shit.” The had entered the clearing and they stopped. McCree turned to face the witches. “Thanks for your help, Angela. We’ll keep you in the loop on the case.”

 

“Yes, you will. Because I’m working it with you.”

 

“Angela, we–” He looked to Pharah, whose hard face gave him nothing. He stubbed out his cigar and rubbed his chin. “Angela, I like you, you know that. But you’re not– this is Order business, and you’re kind of… pretty far from the Order.”

 

“This is my business,” Angela said.

 

“Look, I know you knew her, but–”

 

“You don’t understand, Jesse.” Pharah placed a hand on her shoulder but Angela shrugged it off, not violently but definitively. “Every terrible thing you people accuse me of, every awful deed I’m feared for– that was all because of my mercy. Because I don’t discriminate in who I help. And I don’t regret that. Genji, Satya, Mei–” She jabbed a finger at the trees behind her. “They would be dead if I hadn’t shown them mercy. Instead, they’re living good lives, happy lives, helping others, in some cases.”

 

“I know that, Angela, I’m not saying–”

 

“I know what you’re not saying.” Angela suddenly looked very tired. “But that’s the thing, Jesse, if you were saying it, you wouldn’t be wrong. Me helping some people has hurt others before. I thought I had gotten better at figuring out who was worth it, especially since I met Pharah–” Pharah’s mouth twitched but Angela did not seem to notice. “–but Moira still knew she could take advantage of me. Not just me, Mei. Did you see how Satya shepherded her away from me?” McCree nodded silently. “She doesn’t trust me. And I don’t blame her. I helped the wrong person and I’m not the one who’s bearing the consequences.”

 

Pharah made a little noise and Angela looked over to where her arm was hovering over her shoulder, just shy of a hug. She gave a hiccupy laugh and fell to Pharah’s side, and Pharah wrapped her arm around her in earnest.

 

“Okay,” McCree said. “Okay. I get it. I do.”

 

“Thank you,” Angela said. She wiped at her eyes and looked up at Pharah. “I need to talk with them, let them know what’s going on, but–”

 

“Yeah,” Pharah said. “We’ll be in touch.” Angela reached up and kissed her deeply. McCree sighed.

 

“So should I just plan to walk back to town, or…?”

 

Angela pulled back. “Actually, I did have a question for you. People said they seen Priests of Death poking around the countryside.” She looked back up to Pharah, whose face was suddenly drawn and tense. “Do either of you know what that’s about?”

 

“Souls aren’t passing over,” Pharah said. She laughed humorlessly. “That’s all they’ll tell us. Apparently I’m not high enough clearance.” 

 

“They’ve been talking with us some, though," McCree said quickly. "And I haven’t heard them mention anything about any of you. I’ll try to keep them off your tail, and I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”

 

“Thank you,” Angela said. She took a step back and summoned her broom, and toyed with the straw. “I just want to keep everyone safe,” she said after a moment. Pharah stroked her cheek.

 

“We will,” she said. Angela smiled and kissed her softly one more time, then wave to McCree and headed back into the darkness of the trees. Pharah watched her until she disappeared into the shadows.

 

“You ready to go home?” she said to McCree, once Angela was gone.

 

“Fine,” McCree said. “But I’m doing piggyback this time.”

 

“You don’t have the leg strength for it,” she said, but knelt down anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As the chapters make clear, there are a lot of skins here! So just to clarify–  
> Sombra's in Demon Hunter  
> Widow's in Huntress  
> Reaper's in Dracula  
> McCree's in Van Helsing  
> Pharah's in Possessed  
> Angela's in Witch  
> Ana's in Corsair  
> Jack's in Immortal, though slightly more human-colored  
> Genji's in Oni  
> Satya's in Dragon  
> Mei's in Jiangshi


	4. The Undead

When the Widow got back to the manor, she found it dark and still. She made her way down to the library where she found Sombra in the exact same spot she had left her.

 

“Did you move at all?” she asked.

 

“Not a muscle,” Sombra said cheerfully. “How was your night?”

 

“Interesting.” Sombra looked up with a raised eyebrow but when the Widow did not elaborate, she returned her attention to her book. The Widow fiddled with the cuff of her jacket. She had not needed the pirate to tell her not to trust Sombra. She did not trust her in the least. But Sombra was well versed in magic.

 

“Are all tattooed eyes enchanted?” the Widow asked. Sombra shrugged, not looking up from her book.

 

“Eyes are a popular thing to get blessed. Lot of meaning in those. Seeing, windows to the soul, all that. Lot of ways you can take it. Personally, I think it’s a little too obvious. Not very discreet. But to each their own.”

 

“So an X over an eye, would that let a person tell if someone’s lying?”

 

“You ran into a Magistrate, then?” The Widow nodded. “Yeah, that’s their thing. Lies and dark magic. Must’ve loved you.” She finally looked up from her book, gave the Widow a once over, and smiled broadly. “Not a scratch, though. So my spell worked?”

 

“Yes,” the Widow said. Sombra looked just as smug as she had imagined, and so the Widow quickly pressed on. “What about other tattoos?”

 

Sombra frowned. “What other tattoos?”

 

“It was– ah–” The Widow walked over to the desk and quickly drew the symbol around the pirate’s eye, then handed the paper to Sombra. “She said she was a pirate. Is it a nautical thing?”

 

Sombra studied it for a moment more, then she laughed. “Sure,” she said, handing the Widow back the paper. “Sure. It’s a nautical thing.”

 

The Widow did not move. “She knew who I was,” she said.

 

“I’m sure she did,” Sombra said, still sounding amused.

 

“She knew who you were.”

 

Sombra looked up and to the Widow’s frustration, she seemed utterly unfazed. “And what did she say about me?”

 

“That I shouldn’t trust you,” the Widow said. Sombra cocked her head, then laughed again.

 

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” she said. She turned back to her books. “You do what you like, Widow,” she said. “But we already made our deal. And I hate it when my business partners don’t follow through.”

 

“I’m not backing out,” the Widow said.

 

“Good.” Sombra turned a page and the Widow felt strongly that she was being dismissed from her own library. She quietly left and shut the heavy door behind her.

 

-

 

The following week progressed in much the same way. Every night, the Widow went into Adelsbrunn and searched archives and eavesdropped in bars, trying to find some clue as to who had turned her. Every morning, she left empty-handed. And every day, she would return to find Sombra in the library, surrounded by runes and books.

 

The seventh day she had come home, however, Sombra shut her book and said to her, “I need to re-up your feeding spell.”

 

The Widow looked down at her forearm. The black web did seem to have faded somewhat. “Fine,” she said. Sombra motioned to the desk, and the Widow sat on top of it. Sombra raised an eyebrow.

 

“You can take the chair, you know.” 

 

“I’m fine,” the Widow said, staring straight ahead so that Sombra would not see her embarrassment. But she still heard Sombra’s soft chuckle as she walked over to her, pulled some white fire from the hearth, and took the Widow’s hand in her own.

 

The Widow gasped lightly from the pain. Sombra studied her carefully. “How are you feeling?” she asked.

 

“Fine,” the Widow said stiffly. “I just forgot how it felt, was all.”

 

“No, I mean– all of this. How are you feeling?”

 

Sombra had an almost gentle look in her starlight eyes, and it made the Widow angry. “I don’t feel,” she said. 

 

Sombra snorted. “That’s bullshit.”

 

“And you would know bullshit, wouldn’t you?”

 

Sombra looked surprised for a moment, then she laughed. “Fair,” she said. She fell briefly silent, watching the black fire around the Widow’s arm, before speaking again. “Tell you what,” she said. “What if we made a deal?”

 

“We already made a deal.”

 

“Another deal,” Sombra said. “You ask me a question I have to answer truthfully. I ask you a question you have to answer truthfully. Quid pro quo.”

 

The Widow narrowed her eyes. “I reserve the right to veto any questions.”

 

“Of course. But you agree?”

 

The Widow hesitated, the sighed. “Fine.”

 

“Good, because we already shook on it.” Sombra waved their joined hands, and the Widow laughed in spite of herself. “Okay, first question–”   
  


“Why do you get to go first?”

 

“Because I thought of the game, and because I already started asking. How do you feel?”

 

The Widow stared down at her arm as she considered the question. Through the fire, she could faintly see the web, growing stronger. “Angry,” she said. “Not at you, at least not too much.” Sombra gave a short nod of concession. “Angry at whoever turned me. And at all the people aren’t helping me find them. And just– generally angry, that I have to deal with all this.”

 

“You’re not–” Sombra stopped and shook her head. “Your turn to ask a question.”

 

“Right. How did you find me?”

 

“I’m a lich,” Sombra said promptly. “I can smell the undead a mile a way. And you’re undead. So.”

 

“My answer was much more in depth.”

 

“Well, then start asking better questions, ma chérie.” The Widow made a face at her and Sombra grinned. “Okay. Your husband.”

 

She trailed off. “That’s not a question,” the Widow informed her.

 

“You’re not– was he–” The Widow watched her patiently and she sighed. “If someone had forced me to kill my partner, I would be angry, yeah, but I’d also grieve. Aren’t you sad, too?”

 

“Did you have a partner when you were alive?”

 

The fire turned white again, then sputtered out. The tattoo on Widow’s forearm was a bold black once more. Sombra gave her a wan smile and then let go of her hand. “It’s not your turn to ask a question.”

 

“I don’t know,” the Widow said. She drew her arm back up to her chest and cradled it absentmindedly. “I am... sad, I suppose. But I don’t want to grieve more than I want them to pay. And so that’s what I choose to focus on.” Sombra sat down in the desk chair and leaned her head on her hand. “Is it my turn to ask a question now?”

 

“Go for it. I won’t even count that one. Same as before?”

 

The Widow considered Sombra and her sly smile. A large part of her did in fact want an answer to the question Sombra had dodged. But she wanted to know herself more than she wanted to know Sombra.

 

“What’s my name?” the Widow asked. Sombra looked up quickly.

 

“Veto.”

 

The Widow curled her hands into fists against the desk. “Fine then. Why won’t you tell me my name?”

 

Sombra leaned back in her chair, steepled her fingers, and sighed. “Your name can be used to bind you,” she said. “Whoever turned you, they put you in a thrall rather than a contract. Short term rather than eternity. I want to keep it that way. If you don’t know your name, than it doesn’t matter if someone tortures you or tricks you or whatever. You’ll never give it up.”

 

“Oh.” The Widow blinked. “Why didn’t you just tell me that?”

 

Sombra let out a surprised little laugh. “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t think of it.”

 

“Mmm.” The Widow scooted to the edge of the desk and leaned her arms against her knees, drawing closer to Sombra. “So does that mean your real name isn’t Sombra?”

 

“Of course not. And you’ll never find it, either,” Sombra said, pointing a finger at the Widow. “I figured out how to make my name unknowable. I’m every kind of ghost. And it’s not like people were writing my name all over the place back in the day anyway.”

 

Sombra said it in a jovial tone, but the Widow still frowned. “What do you mean?”

 

Sombra looked around the spacious library, then back to Widow. “I mean I was poor, back when I was alive,” she said. “Like, utterly poor. My parents died when I was a kid, the landlord kicked me out, I grew up on the streets. And you know, I did alright for myself there. But it’s not the best place to live even if you know what you’re doing, and I got sick. And when I did,” Sombra laughed bitterly, “I was just like– I got screwed over by life, I’ll be fucked if I get screwed over by death too.”

 

The Widow leaned in further. “What were you doing before you found me? And how long have you been a lich?”

 

For a second, Sombra’s eyes darkened, and then her smile returned. “That’s what, three of your questions I answered in a row?”

 

Widow ducked her head. “I suppose.”

 

“You little minx.” She booped the Widow’s nose, ignoring her small noise of annoyance. “You owe me. How are you going to pay me back?”

 

The Widow raised her head, considered Sombra, and then took her hand. She raised it to her lips and closed her eyes and kissed it softly. When she let go and opened her eyes, she saw Sombra’s mouth hanging slightly ajar.

 

“Apparently there was all kinds of commotion at society balls to win one of those from me,” the Widow said sweetly. “I hope it’ll suffice?”

 

Sombra nodded, abruptly stood up from her chair, and walked back to her books. The Widow had not learned much about herself, but she felt quite sure she had learned something about Sombra. She left for Adelsbrunn with veins full of magic and a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Sombra in this AU is still Demon Hunter Sombra but yall, if you have Bride/Comtesse hcs/fics, hmu. After this fic is done and I'm out of midterms hell, I might try my own.


	5. The Possessed

The Widow was in Adelsbrunn’s city library when the orange gauntleted hand slammed down on the table next to her. She slowly and deliberately looked up from her book. 

 

“You bitch,” McCree said. The Widow narrowed her eyes. Behind him, she could see a growing pink light from behind the bookcases. 

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“Y’know, I can fuckin’ understand your kind killing to eat,” he said in a low voice. “Me, I’d like to think that if I ever ended up like you, I’d do whatever I had to not to. But I haven’t been there, so I can’t judge. But you? Killing people and just leaving them, not even making their death worth something, just because you didn’t like what I had to say? Fuck you.”

 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” the Widow said. Almost imperceptibly, McCree’s tattooed eye flashed orange. He blinked, and then took his hand away.

 

“Right,” he said. “Sorry.” He coughed. “Do you know anything about this?”

 

The Widow remembered her first night, and the vampire who killed and then left the body, untouched, for her to feed on. “No,” she said. 

 

“Uh huh,” he said coolly. “You know who it is who’s doing this?”

 

“I don’t know who they are,” she said, and while his eye did not flicker, he still seemed skeptical.

 

“You know why they’re doing this?”

 

“No.”

 

“McCree.” The Widow turned in her seat and McCree turn on his heel to face the Witch of the Order as she walked towards them. “If you’re ready, I’d like to speak with her as well.” McCree stepped back, and Pharah pulled up a chair and sat down next to her. She looked almost ridiculous, her armor and fire and wings stuffed onto a little wooden chair.

 

“I told you we’d contact you if we made any breakthroughs on finding the coven head,” Pharah said. “Or found out how to kill you.”

 

“Well?” the Widow asked. “Which is it?”

 

“If it was the latter, you wouldn’t be here asking about it,” McCree called. Pharah smiled drily.

 

“Quite. So. The coven.” The Widow leaned towards her.

 

“You found them?”

 

“No,” Pharah said. “But we think we know her name. Does ‘Moira’ ring any bells?”

 

_ Her husband complaining about some lackluster scholar of the Life Domain to her grandmother, back when her grandmother was still Dean and he was just her favorite professor– _

 

_ Her husband complaining bitterly about faculty politics over dinner, her gently chiding him that this was what being Dean meant– _

 

_ Her husband holed up in the library for long periods of time, and when he emerged, he held up an image of an orange-haired woman, and told her that if she saw her,  _ run _ – _

 

“Yes,” the Widow said quietly. “It does.”

 

Pharah nodded to McCree, then turned back to her. “We don’t know where she is, or what her capabilities are. Can you give us any information with regard to that?”

 

The Widow tried, she truly did, McCree could have looked into her soul and not her wanting. But nothing more came. She shook her head and Pharah sighed and stood. “We’ll find you if we make any more progress,” Pharah said. “In the meantime, you know where to find us.”

 

The Widow nodded. Pharah walked towards the exit and McCree looked the Widow over once more, and then followed.

 

The Widow looked back down at the book she had been reading, but McCree’s eye lingered in her mind. She stood, headed to the section on symbology, and came back with a volume entitled  _ Runes of the Corpus _ .

 

It did not take her long to find what she was looking for. The book was organized by body parts, then by domains, and the pirate’s tattoo was prominently placed on the necromancy page.

 

“The signature of the Goddess of Death,” read the caption. “Sighted only during catastrophes requiring divine intervention.”

 

-

 

As the Widow was leaving the library, she heard a gravelly voice say, “Good evening.” She turned and saw nothing, and then she saw the masked vampire step out of them shadows.

 

“You,” she said.

 

“Me,” he replied, in as pleasant a tone as his ruined voice could muster. “Would you mind if I walk you to the wall?” 

 

The Widow stared at him for a moment, then held out her arm. He looped his through it and they began to walk.

 

“They’re after you,” the Widow told him.

 

“I’m sure ‘they’ are,” the vampire said. “I saw the Witch of the Order and her Magistrate leave the library. I’m assuming that’s who you’re talking about?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Well then, that’s a worry,” the vampire said in the same conversational tone. “The Witch is incredibly powerful. Did you know that?”

 

“I did.”

 

“She’s done unbelievable things,” he said. “Truly, unbelievable. She’s cleansed demon strongholds thought lost for eternity. She’s made salted earth fertile again. She’s able to change her form in ways never seen before. No one’s ever known of a witch accomplishing half the things she has.”

 

The Widow looked at him sideways. “Is she a threat?”

 

“To the general public? Lord, no. She’s never been anything but benevolent to the people of Adelsbrunn. And moreover, she’s always strictly followed the laws laid out by humans and the gods. That’s how she got her position in the Order.” He adjusted his cravat, the black eyes of his mask impenetrable. “Or at least, that’s what I’ve heard. I haven’t had much occasion to speak with her. If I ever got close, her Magistrate would kill me before I could utter a word.”

 

The Widow looked down the road. The city wall was in sight. “Moira turned you too,” she said.

 

The vampire hesitated, and then said, “Yes, I suppose.”

 

“There are things you’re not telling me.”   
  


“I’m sorry,” he said. “That must be frustrating, mustn’t it?”

 

He seemed to only partially be teasing her, so the Widow simply ignored him. They had reached the wall and he let go of her arm. “When are you going to tell me?” she asked him.

 

“I need someone to sign off on you,” he said. “Once you have that, come find me.” Then, he turned and walked into the darkness, and disappeared.

 

-

 

When the Widow arrived home, Sombra was not in the library. Eventually she found her in the den, kneeling in the arm chair and wiping at the mantle with a wag. The Widow leaned against the doorframe. “What are you doing?” she asked, and Sombra nearly fell off the chair.

 

“Friggin’ vampire feet don’t make a goddamn bit of noise,” she muttered, eyeing the Widow’s boots critically. The Widow waited. “I was bored, and so I was walking around the house, and I noticed the room was super dusty. So I thought I’d clean it.”

 

“Is your undead form susceptible to allergies?”

 

“No–” 

 

“I don’t think mine is either.”

 

Sombra sighed and sat down in the chair, the rag draped over the armrest. “You could just say thank you, you know.”

 

“Thank you,” the Widow said, smiling despite herself. She sat down on the sofa, and recalled that the two of them had recreated their seating arrangement from the first night they met. “May I ask you a question?”

 

“I don’t know if it’s your turn.”

 

The Widow bit her lip. “Sombra.”

 

“Alright, alright.” Sombra leaned her head against her hand. “Shoot.”

 

“What do you know about the Goddess of Death?”

 

Sombra looked down quickly but she did not hide her shock, and her hunched shoulders and stiff posture utterly gave away her discomfort. “Uh. Not much.”

 

“You’re a lich,” the Widow pointed out. “Surely you must know  _ something _ about her.”

 

“I know I need to stay the hell away from her, or she’ll stick me in her dungeon,” Sombra said. She ran her hand over the shaved part of her head, pushing her hood down. 

 

The Widow eyed her critically. “Fine. What about the Witch of the Order?”

 

“What about her?”

 

“I heard about some of the things she’s done,” the Widow said, because if Sombra could omit, than so could she. “It sounds… very impressive, for a witch. Do you know how she got so powerful?”

 

Sombra shifted in her seat. “Impressive how?”

 

“Cleansing the undead, bringing plants back to life–” Open fear flashed across Sombra’s face before she composed herself and the Widow stopped. “What?”

 

“Nothing,” Sombra said. “You’re right. That’s weird. I don’t know her, though.”

 

“You know something, though. Or you think something.”

 

“It’s not important,” Sombra said. She stood. “I’m going back to the library.”

 

The Widow grabbed her wrist as she passed and held tight with her vampire strength. Sombra spun and stared at her with her starlight eyes.

 

“I’ve done everything you asked,” the Widow said. “I’ve covered for you. This is my life. I’m not asking you as part of our deal. I’m… please.”

 

Sombra looked afraid again, but in a way that was infinitely worse. The Widow was horribly aware that if she still had tears, she would be crying.

 

“I said I would protect you,” Sombra said, after a long pause. “And I want to do that. So… please, Widow. Trust me.”

 

Widow remembered the pirate’s warning and grit her teeth. The frustrating thing was that she wanted to trust Sombra, wanted the woman to be wrong, even as Sombra continued to give her no reason to want that. She was frustrated that she was frustrated in the first place. She still wanted to cry and it almost hurt that she couldn’t.

 

She let go of Sombra’s wrist and fell back onto the sofa. Sombra stared at her for a moment longer, then left. The white fire in the hearth went out, and the Widow was left in darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legit sorry for the angsty end, but this was the best way to break up chapters for word count!
> 
> On a happier note, I wanted to post some art people have been doing of this, because holy shit you guys follow these people. 
> 
>  
> 
> [Bloomingcnidarian](http://bloomingcnidarians.tumblr.com/post/179023897661/i-accept-your-offer-she-told-sombra-sombra)
> 
>  
> 
> [Collophora](http://collophora.tumblr.com/post/178800089801/the-huntress-chapter-3-theoroark-overwatch) [(and bonus!)](http://collophora.tumblr.com/post/178745832486/the-huntress-chapter-1-theoroark-overwatch)


	6. The Goddess

Once again, there was no one in the foyer or the second-floor hallway when the Widow entered the temple. McCree descended from the spiral staircase as she approached, and stood in front of it with his arms folded. “What’re you here for?” he asked.

 

“I’d like to speak with the Witch,” the Widow said. McCree uncrossed his arms.

 

“Do you have something for the investigation?”

 

“I won’t know until I ask her.” He rolled his eyes but waved her up anyway. He stood directly behind her, guarding the exit, as the Widow approached the desk.

 

“I actually am working this case,” Pharah said, without looking up from her papers. “So if you don’t have anything pertaining to the case, I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

 

The Widow pulled the paper she had drawn the tattoo on out of her pocket and placed it on the desk. “I saw this symbol on someone. Do you know what it is?”

 

Pharah glanced up, then her eyes widened. The flames seeping out of her armor jumped. The Widow could hear McCree walking towards them, but she did not move.

 

“Ring any bells?” she asked casually.

 

Pharah took a breath, and then turned back to her papers. “No,” she said. “I’m afraid not. Why did you think this woman was relevant to the case?”

 

“She knew I was a vampire, and that I was protected.” Pharah’s brow tightened and she nodded quickly. “Incidentally, I didn’t say that she was a woman. You’re sure you don’t know anything?”

 

McCree put his hand on her shoulder. “It’s time for you to leave,” he said. The Widow considered fighting him on that– it wasn’t like they could kill her, after all– but she had a feeling that nothing they would say would tell her more than Pharah’s reaction. She smiled sweetly at him and left.

 

The Widow walked to the wall and then walked along its periphery, past apathetic guards and yawning travelers. Finally she reached a familiar section, and a familiar stone bench.

 

The Widow sat down. A crow flew overhead. She waited. She could not get the look on Sombra’s face out of her mind.

 

The pirate and the medic walked around the corner. The pirate waved. “You wanted to chat, dear?” she called.

 

The Widow waited until she got closer, and when she did, she said, “You’re the Goddess of Death.”

 

The medic’s spine went rigid and his hand went to his sidearm. The Goddess simply laughed.

 

“Oh,” she said. “At least now we’ll have some fun.”

 

-

 

The Goddess insisted that she call her Ana. “It’s the name I’ve been using down here among the humans,” she said, as she lit a magical fire under a tea kettle. “And I think it makes me blend in with the humans better. Don’t you agree, Jack?”

 

The medic leaned back in his chair, a courageous act, given how rickety it seemed to the Widow. This appeared to be his house and while admittedly, her standards were high, it still seemed depressingly modest, and neglected to boot.

 

“You would blend better if you didn’t keep referring to us as ‘the humans,’” Jack told Ana, and she laughed.

 

“Your perspective is invaluable,” she said, and he snorted and gave her a small smile. Ana turned to the Widow. “You must have questions.”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Well.” The kettle was whistling and Ana took it off the fire. She raised an eyebrow to the Widow and when the Widow shook her head, she poured Jack a cup, then herself. “I do have more answers than most, so. Ask away.”

 

“Why are you here?” the Widow asked.

 

“My Reaper was taken,” Ana said. The Widow noticed, out of the corner of her eye, a muscle in Jack’s jaw twitch. “He had entered this plane to collect souls, and I heard the start of him calling for help, and then nothing. When I arrived, he wasn’t there, and there was dark magic everywhere. The same that’s on you.”

 

“And so you think Moira did it?”

 

“Moira.” Ana turned to Jack, who closed his eyes and nodded shortly. “We hadn’t gotten a name, so thank you.”

 

“I don’t have anything more than that,” the Widow said.

 

“Still.” Ana took a sip of her tea. “It’s a start.”

 

The Widow frowned. “You’re not just depending on me for information, are you?” Ana laughed, a touch louder than the Widow felt was necessary. “What?”

 

“No, I’m not just relying on you,” Ana said, shaking her head. “Definitely not.” The Widow stared at her uncomprehendingly and she smiled gently. “Sombra.”

 

The Widow stared down at her empty teacup, trying not to betray the thrum of dread in her stomach. “Sombra,” she repeated.

 

“She was the most notorious lich in the dungeon of my plane,” Ana said. “But she didn’t get that way by incapable. And so I struck a deal with her: she’d help me find the Reaper and destroy whatever bound him, I’d ease her sentence and let her pass from the plane.”

 

“She didn’t tell me any of this,” the Widow said. Ana studied her over her cup.

 

“You live at the Guillard Chateau, don’t you?” Jack asked abruptly.

 

“Yes.”

 

“That explains it, then,” Jack said. “You have one of the largest magical libraries in the world there.” He turned to Ana. “If she could find a way to escape you anywhere, it would be there.”

 

“I knew she was using me,” the Widow said, almost defensively. “We made a deal.”

 

“But you didn’t have all the terms,” Ana said. She reached across the table and laid a hand on the Widow’s wrist. “And she only cares about herself. As soon as she finds what she’s looking for, she’ll leave you. I should have expected she would try to use people, when she was down here. I came down to keep an eye on her, but I didn’t do a good enough job. And I’m sorry for that.”

 

“She’s protected me,” the Widow said. Ana hummed.

 

“What she’s doing isn’t protection, though. What you’re living isn’t life.” The Widow pulled her wrist from Ana’s grasp but the goddess kept her tattooed eye fixed on her. “I can help you. We both want revenge on Moira. I will move heaven and earth to get you that, literally. But when this is done, you will have to come with me. That’s not me being cruel, or hard-hearted. You’re dead. Your time on in this world is done. When you pass from my plane, you’ll start something new, something even I don’t know of. That’s a good thing. You deserve that.”

 

The Widow looked around the house, anywhere but at Ana. It really was a small place, almost dilapidated, but there were signs that someone had lived here. There were dishes in the drying rack and dead flowers in a vase. The Widow was reminded of Sombra dusting her mantle and wondering if the Chateau had fallen into a similar state of disrepair, and she had simply failed to notice. She tried to remember the rooms she had been in recently but she could not picture the library without Sombra at its center, or the den without Sombra draped over the armchair.

 

The Widow stood. Ana set down her tea cup. “I understand your hesitance,” Ana said. “But you should know I’m not just doing this for my job, or because I think it’s what’s right. The Reaper is the soul I’ve known the longest. He’s my closest friend.” The goddess’s one tattooed eye seemed to burn now, flecks of orange around the iris. The Widow unconsciously took a step towards the door. “I can tell she took something just as important from you. I imagine you hate this Moira and want to hurt her as badly as she’s hurt you. And so you should know that we’re really not that different, you and I.”

 

The Widow just nodded. Ana sighed and untied her blue headband, and leaned heavily on her hand. The Widow turned to Jack. “You recognized me,” she stated.

 

“Yes,” he said. He was holding his teacup to his mouth. The Widow noticed, for the first time, that there was an orange ring tattooed around his finger.

 

“Do me a favor,” she said. “Don’t tell me my name.” She left before he could respond.

 

-

 

The Widow did not have the one location to go to to look for him, and she imagined he was not quite as omnipresent as the goddess was. So she wandered around the city for a while, trying her luck in a variety of different quiet places, but always sticking to the shadows.

 

Finally, in a little park, she heard a gravelly voice ask, “Are you looking for me?” She turned and there he was, still in his nice black suit and cloak, just visible underneath a tree. For the first time, he did not sound as though he knew more than her. He sounded plaintive.

 

“You’re the Reaper,” she said, and even with his mask in place, she could see his relief. His shoulders fell and he almost ran towards her, and hugged her. The Widow remained rigid, utterly unsure of what was happening.

 

“I knew she’d figure it out,” he whispered. He let the Widow go, though his hands remained on her shoulders. “Was it her daughter? Or did she deputize one of her priests?”

 

“She– no.” The Widow shook her head, trying to gather her thoughts. “Her daughter– I don’t think the Witch knows? She seemed confused when I brought up the tattoo.” The Reaper tilted his head. “And she’s sent someone, but, I mean– she’s here too? I thought you knew that.”

 

The Reaper let go of her. “The Goddess came down to earth? She took on physical form? She did all that to find me?”

 

“Well, I mean, I think so, that’s what she told me at least–” A sniffling emerged from behind the Reaper’s mask and The Widow stopped. “Aren’t you a vampire? We can’t actually cry, you know.”

 

“It’s the thought of the thing,” the Reaper said, not a bit sulkily. “And in any case. I’m not quite like you.”

 

“The bodies.” The Reaper nodded. “What do you…?”

 

He looked around the park, then held out his arm again. The Widow linked hers and let him begin to walk them back to the shadows of alleyways.

 

“I’m one of the few beings in existence that can hold souls,” he said in a low voice, once they were enveloped in darkness. “Moira bound me to harvest them for her.” He looked down to the cobblestones. “For me, too. She knew I would let myself wither rather than do her work, so she made it so I gain sustenance from them, too, and if I go too long without, the hunger overpowers me. The souls, they keep me alive. But her– they make Moira horrendously powerful.”

 

_Her husband telling her that something was horribly wrong, an abomination had been wrought, please go to the country, please, if she finds out I know–_

 

The Widow had not replied and the Reaper was watching her oddly. She nodded in a quick jerking motion. “So,” she said. “What do we do?”

 

“The Goddess didn’t tell you?” he asked.

 

“She wanted me to travel with her,” the Widow said. “But…” It occured to the Widow that the Reaper was the very entity that would collect her, when Ana decided she had existed on the mortal plane for long enough. The Reaper waited but she let her sentence trail off. He sighed.

 

“You had someone cast protections on you, didn’t you?”

 

The Widow’s jaw stiffened. “Yes.”

 

“They’re well done,” the Reaper said. “Your friend, they must be a powerful magic user in their own right.”

 

“...Yes.”

 

The Reaper stopped. They had arrived at the wall. The Widow could see the beginning signs of sunrise in the sky.

 

“We can’t take Moira down on our own,” he said. “She put every kind of failsafe on me. I can’t communicate at all with the Goddess, with her priests, with J– with anyone. And I certainly can’t attack her. And no offense, but you’re not strong enough to take her on by yourself.” The Widow shrugged in concession. “But if we had backup– between me knowing about her, and you being able to get in, if we had some fire power, we could stand a chance.”

 

The Reaper’s pitch rose as he spoke and the Widow believed him. Then she realized the next logical step in his plan, and a lump grew in her throat. “I’ll have to ask her,” she said.

 

He seemed to hear the warning in her voice, and shrank a little. “That’s fine,” he said, his artificial cheer sounding absolutely ridiculous paired with his gravelly voice. “When you do, come to the park. I’ll find you.”

 

The Widow nodded and left Adelsbrunn. She made it back to the manor as the edge of the sky turned pink. She looked for Sombra first in the den, but she was not there. She found her in the library.

 

“I found the Goddess,” the Widow said. The fear returned to Sombra’s face and the Widow hated how it brought her no satisfaction. “I know why you’re here. We need to talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm leaning towards posting the first chapter of an R76 & Ana sidestory next update, but I understand if folks don't want to end on a cliffhanger– let me know what you think!


	7. The Demon Hunter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you missed it– [first part of the R76 & Ana side story is up!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16355171/chapters/38270903)

For only the second time since she had met her, Sombra did not have anything clever to say. She just say there and stared at the Widow, her mouth slightly agape. The Widow sighed.

 

“I’m not breaking our deal,” she said. “You can still read here. But other things happened tonight, and we need to talk about them.”

 

“Okay,” Sombra said. She bit her lip. “Widow, I– I’m sorry I didn’t tell you but I– it was because of–”   
  


“I know why you didn’t tell me,” the Widow said, in a voice more tired than angry, but Sombra winced nonetheless. “It is what it is. Let me tell you what happened.”

 

Sombra shut her book and looked down. “Okay.”

 

“The Goddess sent you to find her Reaper,” the Widow stated.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Well I found him.” Sombra’s head snapped up. “He was captured by the same person who turned me. Moira.”

 

_ She was trapped in her fallen carriage. Her leg felt broken and her face burned. A pale, veiny hand with long nails reached in through the purple fog and pulled her out. She must have been watching their house, she realized. But at least she was here. At least that meant he was safe. _

 

“You found him,” Sombra repeated hoarsely. The Widow blinked and nodded, and tried to focus on the levitating lich in front of her. Right now, she wanted to know about Sombra, not herself.

 

“I know it’s not what you wanted,” the Widow said. “But he said that with your help, we could take her down.”

 

“Of course he said that, Widow, he wants to make sure I can’t escape, when this is done!” Sombra fell to the ground and she dusted herself off as she stood. “If he and the Goddess know I’m looking for a way out, and the Goddess is here herself, they’re just trying to pull me back!”

 

“He didn’t know who you are. He thought she had sent one of her priests.”

 

“Well he’ll damn sure know who I am when he meets me!” Sombra waved a hand over herself, her starlight eyes wide. “Widow, in our deal, you said I could use your library. I can’t use your library if I’m in the Goddess’s dungeon. You can’t bring him back here.” 

 

The Widow looked around the floor of the library. Sombra’s stacks of books and floating runes were quivering slightly. “He’s my only chance at killing her,” she said.

 

“It– it’s not worth it Widow.” Sombra took a step towards her and Widow’s spine stiffened. “I’m not just saying this for my own sake. It’s really not. The Goddess must have told you, didn’t she? You’re an undead aberration. They’ll take you too.” The Widow nodded mutely. “You kill Moira, and your life’s over. You kill her, you kill yourself. How is that revenge? You’re evening the score by bringing both of you down to zero.” Sombra took her hand. Her thumb traced the beginning of the tattoo. “I can protect you from her, and you can do whatever you like. You’re free now, Widow. You don’t know how valuable that is. Trust me.”

 

_ Her carriage was wrecked so she walked back to the manor. It did not take her long. She knocked on the door and there was no answer. She knew it was barricaded with every protection spell known to man and so she called to him, It’s me, Gérard, please let me in, don’t you trust me?– _

 

The Widow pulled her hand back from Sombra. “Okay.” Sombra’s brow furrowed. 

 

“Widow, are you–”

 

“Am I  _ sure _ ?” her voice cracked on a mocking note. “What does it matter, Sombra? It doesn’t matter what I want. You’ll ward him off if I bring him, or take away my protections and hold it ransom. You’ll certainly never cooperate with him. So what does it matter? You’re going to get what you want no matter what. You got a good deal.”

 

Sombra’s face crumpled and her eyes shone brighter. “Widow, I– I care, I do–”

 

“You care,” the Widow repeated. “You know, Sombra, you gave me some nice, ages-old lich advice, so do you want some thirty-year old vampire advice in exchange?” Sombra’s mouth was a flat line. She did not move. “Don’t care,” the Widow said anyway. “You can’t do anything about the shit you care about. So just don’t.”

 

The Widow left the library and Sombra did not follow her. She went to the cellar and killed a rat and drank its cheap blood. Then she put her head in her hands and did not cry. She remembered hiding here as child, one of those long summer days at her grandmother’s house. She remembered showing Gérard around the manor for the first time. She remembered Gérard opening the door and taking her by the hand, petting her hair away from her face and murmuring that everything would be okay now. She pressed the heels of her hands to her forehead. She didn’t want to remember. Sombra had been right.

 

Sombra was probably right about other things, the Widow thought, but she still wanted, so, so badly.

 

She couldn’t sleep any more, but she must have fallen into something of a trance, because hours passed before she heard Sombra yelling, “Widow!” The Widow jerked her head up. “Widow!” Sombra called again. The Widow did not move. She didn’t have anything else to say to Sombra, and she was terrified of whatever it was that Sombra wanted to say to her.

 

Then she heard a man yell, in a gravelly voice, “Widow!”

 

The Widow shot up and ran with her supernatural speed up the cellar steps. She looked down the hallway and saw Sombra and the Reaper standing side by side.

 

“You have a weird nickname,” the Reaper told her.

 

-

 

When they got to the library, the torches and lights lit up in white magic in response to Sombra’s presence. The Reaper peered at the runes as Sombra hurried to her circle and attempted to tidy it. 

 

“You were going to try to fake your own destruction?” he asked. Sombra jolted and the runes disappeared. The Reaper chuckled. “Creating an extraplanar void was a clever idea, though. Could you actually have done that?”

 

“I mean, I didn’t try it,” Sombra said, not meeting his eyes. “But theoretically, it seemed sound.” He whistled.

 

“I know you’re spitting in the face of the natural order and everything I work for, but honestly? I am kind of impressed.”

 

The Widow coughed. “So. Killing Moira?”

 

“Right. Killing Moira.” The Reaper turned to her. “You’re going to have to do it.”

 

The Widow started. “What?”

 

“He’s right,” Sombra said, still on her knees on the floor. “The Reaper said her den has protections against anyone but her or her coven entering, and he’s been bound not to hurt her. We can give you help, but you’re going to have to be the one to actually do it.”

 

“I thought you said I wasn’t strong enough,” the Widow said to the Reaper.

 

“None of us is strong enough on our own,” the Reaper said, ignoring the little disgruntled noise Sombra made behind him. “That’s why we’re working together. I get you there, she gives you a weapon, you kill her.”

 

The Widow looked past him to Sombra. “A weapon?” Sombra stood and smiled guiltily.

 

“I hate to break a promise, but I’m going to have to tattoo you one more time.” The Widow snorted and shook her head. “I want to do that as close to the point of attack as possible, though. So the magic will be the most potent.”

 

“Okay.” The Widow turned back to the Reaper. “Will she be there tonight?”

 

“Yes,” the Reaper said. “You’re ready so soon?”

 

“I’ve been ready for a while now.”

 

The Reaper put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “We’ll leave at dusk,” he told her. They filed out of the library and when the Widow closed the doors, she clear her throat.

 

“Sombra.” Sombra turned to face her. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

 

Sombra nodded and followed the Widow into the hallway, then into the den. The Widow sat on the sofa and Sombra hovered uncomfortably in the middle of the room.

 

“I’m sorry about earlier,” Sombra said.

 

“You brought him,” the Widow said. “Wasn’t that your apology?” Sombra laughed.

 

“I guess so, yeah.”

 

“Why did you do it?”

 

Sombra hesitated, and then sat in the arm chair. “When I was alive, I had so many people who kept me from what I wanted,” she said. “What I needed. And they always told me it was because they were better than me. Worked harder, knew better, were just better. And I knew they were wrong, but that didn’t change anything. That didn’t make me any less sick.” Sombra twisted her hands and tucked her foot under herself. “And so… I don’t know. I know what it’s like to not have control because someone’s more powerful than you and they don’t want to help. And I’ll do a lot of shit, Widow. I’ve done a lot of shit. But I don’t know. I just really didn’t want to do that to you.”

 

The Widow swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. “That makes sense,” she said.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Good.” Sombra stood, her confident smile back in place. “Then come on, Widow. We have a vampire to hunt.”


	8. The Witch

Angela passed through the glass windows like they were water, and gracefully dismounted her broom. “I’m glad you called me,” she said to Pharah and McCree. “I have news.”

 

“So do I,” said Pharah. She gestured across the desk. “You first.”

 

Angela pulled a scroll out of her bag and unrolled it on the desk, revealing a map. “Genji and I searched all the surrounding area,” she said. “And at first we didn’t find anything. Then, we realized: we should be looking for nothing, instead of something.” She stabbed her finger at a featureless point a little south of the city, and an X blossomed from the point of contact. “There used to be a castle here, but now there’s nothing, not even ruins. Nothing except a whiff of dark magic that you can’t quite get a handle on. And some invisible barrier neither of us could get past.”

 

McCree leaned over the map. “That’s her den,” he said.

 

“Yup. So when we’re ready to go after her, we know where to go.”

 

“This is fantastic,” Pharah said. “Thank you, Angela.”

 

“Of course.” Angela rocked on her heels, smiling proudly. “So. What’s your news?”

 

“My mom’s in this plane and she’s after Moira too.”

 

Angela nearly fell over, and grabbed the desk for support. “Pharah! Seriously?”

 

“What?”

 

“Why would you let me go first?”

 

“I was being polite!” 

 

Angela rolled her eyes and straightened up. “Okay. Your mom’s here. Do you know why?”

 

“No,” Pharah said. 

 

“How did you find her?”

 

“I didn’t,” Pharah admitted. “She approached the vampire, and the vampire came and asked me about her.”

 

“So you haven’t talked to her?”

 

“No.”   
  


Angela pinched the bridge of her nose. “Do you know where she is?”

 

“No,” Pharah said. “And I don’t know how to find out, either.” She spun her pen on her desk and watched it sullenly. “You know, it’s pretty ironic. She complains to me all the time about me not visiting or writing, and the one time I need her, I can’t go to her plane or get one of her priests to talk or anything.”

 

“Well, we need to find her.”

 

“Obviously.” The two witches lapsed into thoughtful silence. McCree grabbed a piece of paper, drew the tattoo, and wrote “WILL THE OWNER OF THIS PLEASE COME TO THE ORDER TEMPLE” underneath it. He held it up for the witches.

 

“Oh,” Pharah said. “Yes. That would probably work.” McCree shoved blank pieces of paper towards her and Angela, and they began copying the message.

 

“Pharah,” Angela said, her eyes fixed on the paper. “You know I respect your mother. Very, very much. But…”

 

“I know,” Pharah said. She ran her fingers through her hair. “I don’t plan on letting her find out about the sanctuary.”   
  


“I don’t want you to have to lie to her, though.” Angela glanced up at McCree’s eye. “Can you even lie to her?”

 

“Probably,” Pharah said. She pushed a finished flyer into the growing stack. “I mean, I’ll have to. I love what you do, Angie. I knew when I came down to earth, I wanted to help people. And so I worked to enforce the law, because I thought that would help. But it didn’t help everyone. And then I met you, and you helped all the people I couldn’t. And those people deserve to live the lives they want, that were taken from them. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

 

Angela’s pen stopped and her cheeks flushed. “You help the people I can’t, too,” she said. “And you helped me realize when my kindness was actually hurting people, or hurting me. I remember growing up, my mother always told me my kindness was my greatest strength, but it wasn’t until I met you that I realized that that strength was power, and responsibility. I don’t know what I’d do without you either.” 

 

Pharah laid down her pen, leaned over the desk, and kissed her. “Yeah, yeah, you’re the cutest couple,” McCree said. “We get it.” Pharah flicked a small flame at him and shrugged unremorsefully as the flyer he was working on burned up.

 

-

 

McCree did not know what he had been expecting from a goddess, but it certainly was not an old woman dressed like a pirate, accompanied by an old man in a uniform from a war that had happened decades ago. Still, he couldn’t deny that a potent energy emanated from the woman. He had gotten used to being around Pharah but he was suddenly reminded of the first time he had been in her presence, how terrifying and exhilarating the raw power she radiated had been.

 

“Call me Ana,” the Goddess said, stuck out her hand. McCree stared at it. Pharah sighed. 

 

“He knows who you are, mom.”

 

“I know,” the Goddess said. “But I think having a human name makes the humans more comfortable around me.” The man with her rolled his eyes and the Goddess flashed McCree a smile. McCree smiled back and shook her hand, nerves still very present but suddenly a bit quieter.

 

“Ana,” he said. “Jesse McCree. Pleasure to meet you.”

 

“Charmed.” She looked behind him. “It’s good to see you again, Angela.” From her spot leaning on the wall behind Pharah, Angela gave a tiny wave. It was the most anxious McCree had ever seen her. 

 

“You too, Go– Ana.”

 

Ana gestured to the man behind her. “And this is Jack.” Jack raised a hand and Pharah narrowed her eyes.

 

“Yeah, about that. Why are you bringing one of your consorts on a smiting job?” 

 

Jack made a strangled choking noise and Ana laughed. “Oh, no, no, he’s just a friend.” She tilted her head. “But do you want a sibling, sweetheart?”

 

“Mom. Holy shit.”

 

Jack patted his chest, righted himself, and cleared his throat. “Maybe we focus on the job at hand?”

 

“Right.” The four of them crowded around Fareeha’s desk, and Angela pointed to the X on the map. “This is Moira’s den. I couldn’t get through it on my own, but with your help–”

 

“I can’t get through it either,” Ana said. McCree looked at her, startled.

 

“But you’re a god.”

 

“If I could break her protections, I would have gotten in touch with the Reaper a long time ago,” Ana said. Her tattooed eye was fixed on the map. “She’s put something there to ward me off from him, and I’m sure she has that same spell on her den. Maybe if I got some of my priests together we could dispel it, but that would take months. And with both me and him gone from the Plane of Death, the souls of the dying are in limbo. We wait too long, something far worse could come from that.”

 

Jack’s hand was a tight fist on the table, and Ana laid her hand on his wrist. “Well then what do we do, then?” Pharah asked. “If Angela can’t get through, McCree can’t either.” He shook his head. “The vampire she turned might be able to get through, but we don’t know where she is, and I doubt she’d cooperate–” 

 

“We don’t need her,” Ana said. She looked up at her daughter. “Pharah. You’re a demi-goddess, and she doesn’t know that. She hasn’t warded against you, and you’re powerful enough to break through.”

 

The flames emanating from Pharah burned a bit brighter as she stared at Ana. “You trust me with this?” she asked, after a long pause. Her voice wavered ever so slightly. Angela put her hand on her shoulder, and it was all McCree could do not to reach over and do the same.

 

“Pharah,” Ana said softly. “Of course. I don’t know what I ever did to make you think otherwise, I’m sorry for whatever it was, but– of course.”

 

The fire dimmed and Pharah blinked rapidly. “Right,” she said. “Right. Okay. Thanks.”

 

“Thank you,” Ana said. She let go of Jack and took Pharah’s hand and squeezed. “And I’ll be right outside the whole time, habibti. I won’t leave until I see you safe and sound. And if she lays a hand on you, I’ll rip this plane apart to kill her.”

 

Pharah hiccuped a laugh and reached over and hugged Ana. McCree looked around them to Angela, who was wiping her eyes. When she noticed him, she collected herself and mouthed, “Sanctuary.” He nodded.

 

“Ana,” he said. “Pharah.” The two separated and turned to him. “Angela and I have some business to tend to before we start our assault, but–” Pharah cocked her head, then her eyes widened in recognition.

 

“Yeah. We’ll meet you there.”

 

“Good.” He and Angela walked to the window. Angela tapped her broom to it, and the glass disappeared. She sat down on the broom and swept an arm over it for McCree.

 

“This is a little more of a dignified way to fly,” he told Pharah. She rolled her eyes.

 

“Just go, loser.” McCree grinned and sat down, and Ana waved to them as they flew away. 

 

“It was nice meeting you!” she called. McCree waved back, and Angela did not speak until the temple was far in the distance.

 

“It won’t take long. I just need to make sure they’re safe.”

 

“I know,” McCree said. “That’s why I came, too.” She studied him for a moment, then smiled and rested her head on his shoulder. They fly over the forest, in the pink sunset sky, until the canopy began to sparkle with dark magic and Angela began her descent.

 

Genji and Satya were waiting for them. This time, they paid McCree no mind as Angela strode towards them. “Is everything in place?” she asked.

 

Satya spread out her palm, and a little red cube appeared in it, vibrating with energy. “I have the shields ready. It’ll make us more conspicuous, so I’m only summoning them once you’ve left. And I’m destroying the portal as soon as you pass, so you’ll have to go the long way if you need to retreat.” Angela nodded and Satya turned to Genji. “Genji’s agreed to be on guard as well.”

 

Genji gave a short bow and McCree looked between the two and frowned. “You think she might come after this place?’

 

“She already has once,” Satya said shortly.

 

McCree nodded, pulling out a cigar and lighting it with his gauntlet. “I’m not going to be any use there, am I?” he asked Angela. “I mean, I won’t be able to even get into the place.” 

 

Angela ran her fingers through her hair. “Probably not, I mean– maybe if she has guards on the outside–” 

 

“It’s alright. I think the literal goddess can handle any of those.” He turned to Genji. “You need help, guardin’ this place?” Genji sighed.

 

“What could we possibly do to harm the Witch of the Order while she’s miles away?”

 

“No, no, I–” McCree took out his cigar and tipped his head down, the brim of his hat covering his eyes. “I really do want to help you.”

 

“Oh,” Genji said awkwardly. “Well. Yes. Thank you.” Angela made a soft noise and when McCree turned to her, he saw she had her hands pressed to her mouth. Genji scowled. “What?”

 

“Nothing, nothing,” she said. “I’m just happy you two are getting along.” She walked past Satya, who snapped her palm shut, disappearing the cube, and summoned the beginnings of a portal with the other hand. “I’ll blot out the moon if something happens,” she told them. “But nothing will. It’ll be okay.” She looked around at the three of them. “I know you have reason not to trust me saying that, but– everything in my power, I’ll do to keep you from harm.” 

 

Satya laid a hand on her forearm and nodded. The two of them walked a few paces away, together, and then Satya opened the portal. Angela made to step through but Satya stopped her, hesitated, and then hugged her. Then Angela stepped through the portal, the portal disappeared. The cube reappeared in Satya’s hand. She walked away from McCree and Genji, walls of glowing red wrapping around the village, following in the form of her hands. McCree glanced over at Genji and held out his cigar.

 

“I’m a demon,” Genji said. “My very blood is dark fire. And you’re asking me if I want to smoke.”

 

“Is that a yes or a no?”

 

Genji paused, then laughed and took the cigar. Some of it clipped off on his fangs as he stuck it in his mouth. McCree smiled and sat down in the dirt, and tilted his head up to the moon.


	9. The Spider

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick announcements first– the sidestory [The Doctor](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16355171/chapters/38270903) has been completed, if you want to read that! 
> 
> Also, [collophora](http://collophora.tumblr.com/post/179660205781/the-goddess-shed-her-cloak-and-took-off-her-mask) and [bloomincnidarians](http://bloomingcnidarians.tumblr.com/post/179569518145/poor-mccree-messy-little-sketch-from-the-huntress) have done more amazing art of this fic– please check them out and follow if you haven't already!

“An impressive den,” Sombra said, staring at what appeared to be an old garden overrun by brambles and weeds.

 

“It’s an illusion, her actual den is protected by barrier spells that–”

 

“I know it’s an illusion. It was a joke, to lighten the mood and help us all forget we’re about to send Widow in alone against a super-powerful Coven Lord. Damn.” The Reaper folded his arms and Sombra sighed and turned to the Widow. “The power spell I’m giving you, it’s most effective next to the femoral artery.” The Widow nodded blankly. “So since it’s, uh–” Sombra gestured to her thigh. “Do you want to go somewhere a bit more private?”

 

“Oh,” the Widow said. “Right.” She glanced at the Reaper who shrugged and waved his hand, and so she followed Sombra until they were obscured by trees. Sombra stopped walking and turned to face the Widow, shifting on her feet.

 

“I’d turn away but it’s kind of harder to do this one without looking.”

 

“It’s alright.” The Widow unbuttoned her pants and shoved them down to her knees. Sombra still looked down, and the white fire gathering in her hands jumped a little. “It didn’t really bother me the first time, either.”

 

“It didn’t?”

 

“It didn’t.”

 

Sombra nodded and kept her gaze fixed on her fire. The Widow stood in the woods with her pants down and reflected on the fact that if someone had asked her a week ago what preparations were involved in vanquishing malevolent forces, she never would have come up with this one.

 

“I’m sorry,” Sombra said, breaking the silence. The Widow looked over to her, and black and red were beginning to seep into her white magic. “About everything. This isn’t–” For a second, Sombra closed her starlight eyes, and the magic flickered. “–I’ve been thinking about what I would redo about meeting you, if I could do it over, and there’s– there’s a lot.”

 

“Like what?” the Widow asked.

 

“I would have been more honest. I would have told you the thing about your name, about the Goddess. I thought if you knew, you would bolt but I– I should have trusted you more. I’m sorry.” The magic began to break into segments again. “I would have gone in to help you with your search. The Reaper signing off on this plan makes me feel a bit more confident, but I still wish I had more time to find out about Moira. And I should have been more supportive of you in general. I knew you were going through shit, hell, I asked you about it, but I–” The segments sprouted legs. Sombra looked up at the Widow. “You needed someone. And I wasn’t the person you needed. And I’m sorry.”

 

The Widow stared at the spider in Sombra’s hands, and the red hourglass on its back. “Sombra,” she said softly. “You got me the Reaper. You’re giving me a weapon to kill Moira. You’re here. What else could I need?”

 

Sombra looked up at her and her eyes seemed to be shining brighter than ever. She smiled and shook her head, and the spider walked across the air and settled into the Widow’s leg. This time, the Widow could see how it squirmed its way into her skin, and then shone for a moment before becoming distinctly inklike. Sombra stood and the Widow pulled her pants back up. 

 

“That’s the black widow,” Sombra said. “Finessed, piercing power. When you get a hit on her, she won’t be able to magic it away, won’t be able to heal herself. She’ll just be dead.”

 

The Widow nodded. “Thank you, Sombra,” she said. She took Sombra’s hand and heard her suck in a breath. She held it for a moment, then kissed Sombra’s hand once more. She quickly dropped it and turned to go back to the Reaper but Sombra said, “Widow,” and she stopped. She heard Sombra walking towards her and the Widow took a deep breath before she turned around to face her.

 

“You know,” Sombra said. “I’ve fought a lot of shit in my day. I don’t know if I got good at the fighting, but I know I got good at surviving. You seem better than me at the fighting, so I know you can do this, but I just want you to know, if you can’t–” Sombra took a deep shuddering breath. She put her hand on Widow’s neck and locked eyes with her, and Widow tried not to let the starlight blink out her vision. “–if something goes wrong in there, I’ll survive long enough to make it right. I know I can’t escape him and the Goddess forever. But I can escape them long enough to beat her. I promise.”

 

Then Sombra kissed her, even faster than the Widow had kissed her. When she pulled back her face was open and searching. The Widow ran a thumb over her cheek and smiled.

 

“Come on,” the Widow said. “Let’s hunt.”

 

-

 

When they got back to the Reaper, he was not alone. The Witch of the Wilds was standing with him. The Reaper raised his hand to the two women. 

 

“I think you’ve met my new friend,” he said.

 

“I haven’t,” Sombra said. She eyed the Witch carefully. “What are you doing here?”

 

“Don’t sound so suspicious,” the Witch said. “We’re here to help. This one filled us in,” he nodded to the Reaper, “We’re here for the same thing, but we have a different tribute.”

 

“Who’s we?” Sombra asked. “Because you definitely can’t get through the barrier.”

 

“Pharah can,” the Witch said. 

 

“Pharah,” the Widow repeated. “Does that mean the Goddess is coming?” The Witch nodded, and Sombra’s eyes widened for a moment. The Widow turned her back to the Witch and whispered to her. 

 

“If she’s coming, you should go.” Sombra shook her head. 

 

“I’m not going.”

 

“You already gave me the spell.”

 

Sombra took her hand and squeezed it. “Widow. I’m not leaving you here. I’m staying, no matter what.” The Widow blinked and intertwined their fingers.

 

“I mean, I already found her,” the Reaper said. “She was already caught. It’s not that noble a gesture.” The Widow elbowed him in the stomach and he gasped and hunched over. As he did, movement in the sky caught the Widow’s attention, and she looked up to see two streaks of light, one pink and one orange, descend next to them. Pharah folded in her purple wings and the Widow assumed it was Ana next to her, but she could scarcely recognize her. She wore black clothes, her face was a black mask with orange light streaming through jack o lantern features, and she had a ragged billowing cloak that glowed orange on the inside. She was holding a grumpy looking Jack bridal style.

 

“It does look kind of goofy,” Pharah mused. Jack did not say anything, just disentangled himself from the Goddess’s arms and dusted himself off as he got to his feet. Pharah looked at the Reaper and frowned. 

 

“You’re–”

 

“Pharah.” He took a step closer and held out his hand. “It’s been so long.” Her brow furrowed, then her eyes widened, and she squealed and ran forward to hug him. He chuckled and patted her back.

 

“You were just a little kid the last time I saw you, I wasn’t sure you would remember me–”

 

“Are you kidding me? You taught me all that shapeshifting stuff, how could I forget–”

 

“Pharah.” Pharah looked back at her mother, whose gaze was fixed over her shoulder. “What’s going on?” Pharah stepped back and looked between the two, then her shoulders sank.

 

“You don’t see each other,” she said. “The protection spell thing–”

 

“Is the Goddess there?” the Reaper asked, at the same time as the Goddess asked, “Is he there?”

 

“Yes,” Pharah said. Ana reached down and took Jack’s hand and he instantly crumpled towards her, leaning heavily against her side. He whispered something to her and she nodded, and he squeezed her hand. 

 

“And some other guy,” Pharah said to the Reaper. She looked over her shoulder. “What did you say your name was?”

 

He straightened up slightly and said “Jack,” at the same time that the Reaper asked, “Jack?” Pharah nodded, and the Reaper gasped slightly, then sniffled. Sombra raised an eyebrow. 

 

“Aren’t you undead? Can you actually even cry?”

 

“Tell them I said thank you,” he told Pharah. “And that I miss them, that I’ll be with them soon.” As Pharah relayed that, and then their response, Sombra pushed down her hood and drew her hand over the shaved part of her head.

 

“This is all very sweet, but maybe we start sending people in before she starts sending people out?”

 

“Right,” the Reaper said. The Widow walked to the barrier but Pharah hung back with her mother.

 

She whispered but the Widow’s hearing was supernaturally acute, and so she heard Pharah say, “What if I can’t do this?”

 

And she heard Ana respond, “Of course you can do it. You’re my daughter.” She looked back and saw Pharah kiss her mother’s forehead, and she looked away. Then Pharah walked up next to her and they crossed the barrier together.

 

Crossing the barrier itself did not bother the Widow, though she noticed Pharah shudder beside her. What was unnerving was watching the ruined garden transform into expansive, neatly manicured grounds, and a darkened castle. Pharah’s fire dimmed and the Widow nodded, and they approached quickly and silently. Pharah led her to a tower and when they reached the wall she unfurled her wings and unceremoniously scooped up the Widow, and flew them to the window.

 

“You could have warned me,” the Widow hissed.

 

“Shh,” Pharah whispered back. The Widow rolled her eyes. Pharah walked to the door, held a hand to it, and the fire in her armor reignited. After a moment, she returned to the Widow.

 

“There’s no one and no magic within a few yards radius, at least,” she told her. “She’s not in this part of the castle. We’ll search in sections, it’s not ideal for maintaining some kind of surprise, but–”

 

“Moira will be in the dungeon,” the Widow said. Pharah looked at her oddly and the Widow shrugged. “She’s a vampire. She hates the sun. She’ll probably hole up in the place with the least sun.”

 

“You don’t know that this place has a dungeon,” Pharah muttered. 

 

“She kidnapped the Grim Reaper, made her coven den a castle, and has the tackiest nails in the country. She has a dungeon.”

 

Pharah snorted before she caught herself, and returned to a serious expression as she opened the door and led the Widow out.

 

“You mentioned her nails,” Pharah murmured, as they walked down the hallway. “Do you remember anything else about her?” The Widow’s brow furrowed in concentration, but she shook her head. Pharah sighed. “That’s too bad. It’d be good to have some intel going in. It looks like she gave you hell the last time.”

 

“What do you mean?” 

 

“Your face,” Pharah said, gesturing. The Widow brought her hand up and felt the rough, grooved scars that streaked across her forehead and cheeks.

 

“Oh,” she said quietly. “I hadn’t noticed.” Pharah stared at her and opened her mouth, but she did not say anything, and instead silently went down the staircase. The Widow followed.

 

They went down two stories, until they reached a large wooden door. Pharah pushed it open, wincing as it creaked, and revealed a torchlit hallway lined with iron-barred doors. The Widow elbowed her and mouthed, “I told you.”

 

“Keep an eye out,” Pharah whispered, ignoring her. “There are a lot of places where she could hide. As soon as you see her, yell.” She entered the corridor and the Widow followed, her boot clacking on the cobblestone–

 

_ Waking up and finding herself floating down the corridor, catching glimpses of the cells as she wove in and out of consciousness, the veiny hand on her stomach, nails lightly pressed against her skin– _

 

Pharah was carefully inspecting each cell that they passed, and so she did not seem to notice the Widow shaking. The reached the end of the hall and there was a large metal door. Pharah opened it and the Widow saw a long metal table–

 

_ She was strapped down to the table. The room was full of purple fog. The hand was still on her stomach, her eyes were red and blue and artificially bright, like poison fruit. Kill Gérard, she told her, and the Widow tried to struggle against her bonds but she couldn’t even do that, her legs were broken and her eyes were holding her down. _

 

_ Kill Gérard. _

 

_ The Widow remembered hearing about spies in the war as a child and wondering what she would do if she were ever tortured, she’d like to think she wouldn’t give in, but one could never know for sure, could they– _

 

_ Kill the Witch of the Order. _

 

The Widow’s eyes snapped open. Pharah was resting her hand on the wall, sending out pulses of magical energy. “You were right,” she said to the Widow. “She’s nearby. I just don’t know where.”

 

_ Kill the Witch. Together we can take her down. _

 

Pharah’s eyes were closed, the Widow noted. Her back was to her. She was covered in armor but there was a sliver of neck visible.

 

_ Kill the Witch, and I’ll let you go. _

 

The Widow lunged in the air. Pharah wheeled and then called out in surprise as the Widow made contact with a thin, red haired woman and knocked her to the ground. The Widow held her wrists to the cobblestone. Pharah readied a blade of pink fire, but the Widow’s body completely obscured Moira.

 

“Widow,” Pharah said. “Get out of the way. I can kill her.” Purple fog began to seep in through the walls. Pharah coughed and threw a hand out to steady herself, the fiery blade wavering. Moira’s mismatched eyes pinned the Widow. 

 

She heard Moira’s voice in her mind, as clearly as she felt Moira’s sharp nails digging in there, her veiny hands attempting to mold it.  _ If you kill me, you’ll always have this curse. I’ll free you if you help me. Don’t you want to be free? _

 

And the Widow thought back to Sombra telling her how freedom was worth more than revenge, how survival was worth more than winning, how there was no higher order of justice in the universe, just unforgivably neutral gods. And she thought back to Sombra standing next to the Reaper and kissing her and her starlight eyes. She thought back to Sombra asking her what she felt aside from anger. And the Widow was angry, yes, but she was also tired. She was so, so tired of all of this, and she wanted to leave this castle and go back to the Chateau. So she sank her fangs into Moira’s neck. The black widow on her leg sent a jolt of magic up her spine and Moira screamed. The Widow sank her teeth in deeper, her lower incisors scraped up against Moira’s skin alongside her vampiric canines, and she was disappointed to find that Moira tasted like water and not blood. Moira tried to push her away but the Widow held her tight, Moira’s nails scraped against the Widow’s wrists and the Widow laughed into her neck. 

 

Then Moira stopped struggling and fell still, and then she became mist. The Widow fell to the floor as Moira disintegrated. She blew away with the purple fog. She looked up and saw Pharah staring at her, fire still in her hand. The Widow stood up and wiped her mouth.

 

“I want to go home,” she said.

 

-

 

“The Reaper says thank you for the flowers,” Angela said to Jack. “Especially since he’d have had to collect them anyway, given that you killed them when you picked them and all.” 

 

“But make sure he knows I’m joking!” the Reaper added quickly, as the same time as Jack said, “Tell him I know he’s joking.” 

 

Ana snorted and elbowed Jack, who elbowed her back, positively beaming. Ana leaned over to Angela and tapped her shoulder. “Tell him I like Jack, okay? I want to invite him to our book club. Ask him if that’s okay.” Angela looked between the three with a strained smile. Next to the barrier, Sombra grit her teeth.

 

“Maybe the three of you could take your little lovefest somewhere else?”

 

“We can’t talk to each other, we need Angela to relay everything we say–” 

 

“Reaper.” Angela set a hand on his shoulder and he quieted. “I’m going to take a break for a minute. Just… stop and smell your flowers.” She walked over to Sombra’s side as the Reaper lifted the flowers hesitantly to the nose of his mask.

 

“Pharah wouldn’t let anything happen to her,” Angela said quietly to her. Sombra snorted.

 

“Yeah, but what if something happens to Pharah?” Angela did not respond and Sombra shot her a guilty side glance. “Sorry.”

 

“It’s okay,” Angela said. She fiddled absently with the handle of her broom, taking care to keep it away from the barrier. “Pharah’s strong, and she’s not stupid. If she thinks they can’t win the fight, she’ll take the Widow and run.”

 

“Good,” Sombra said. Her gaze was fixed on the thorny illusionary bushes. Angela watched her for a moment, and then looked away in the same direction. They were quiet for another five minutes or so, until the castle suddenly flickered into view. 

 

Behind her, Sombra heard the Goddess, the Reaper, and Jack gasping and calling to each other. But she did not move and neither did Angela, except to reach down and take Sombra’s hand. Sombra let her. They waited like that for a couple minutes. Then Angela suddenly looked up and pointed, and Sombra saw the glow of pink fire drawing closer to them. The Witch of the Order landed behind them. Angela, the Reaper, and Ana rushed up, hugging her. Sombra looked around. She still did not see the Widow. 

 

“Hey.” No one responded, still cooing over Pharah. “Hey!” Now, they looked to her. “What about Widow?”

 

“What about me?”

 

Sombra nearly fell over as she spun to face the Widow. “Stupid goddamn vampire feet,” she muttered, and the Widow laughed and hugged her. Sombra sank into her arms. 

 

“She didn’t want me to carry her,” Pharah informed her. The Widow ignored her and pulled Sombra slightly to the side, and Pharah’s attentions returned to her crowd. Sombra placed a hand on her chest, as though she could feel a heartbeat there.

 

“Thank you,” Sombra said. The Widow raised an eyebrow.

 

“What are you thanking me for?”

 

“I didn’t get what I went in for out of my deal with you,” Sombra said. “But this–” She surveyed the castle, the happy family behind her, and the slight smile on the Widow’s lips. “–this is pretty good too.”

 

The Widow leaned in and kissed her. Their previous kisses had been short, hesitant things, but this was deep and the Widow dipped her slightly and Sombra forgot to breathe. When they broke apart, the Widow still held her close, and Sombra let her hands fall to her hips.

 

“Okay,” Sombra said. “You’re right. This is the better deal.”


	10. The Immortal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to have a longer note below but just wanted to make sure you all saw [icewuerfelchen's](http://icewuerfelchen.tumblr.com/post/179869176143/sombra-took-a-deep-shuddering-breath-she-put-her) and [svntysix's](http://svntysix.tumblr.com/post/179828200634/read-the-huntress) art, and followed them!!

“A fine guard,” Satya muttered as she walked past Genji and McCree, who were halfway lying on the ground, staring up at the moon. McCree watched her go, shrugged, and handed Genji the bottle of whiskey they had been passing back and forth.

 

“We’ll have plenty of warning if something does happen,” Genji said. “But if she hasn’t attacked by now, I don’t think she’s going to.”

 

“You don’t need to justify yourself to me,” McCree said. He took from the bottle the bottle back from Genji, glancing at him sideways as he did. “Can you even get drunk?”

 

“I’ll find out, I guess.” McCree laughed and took the bottle back from him, and drank.

 

“What do you all do around here for fun, anyway?” he asked. Genji hummed and lay down fully. 

 

“Satya and Mei have each other,” he said. “I help Angela a lot. We look for anyone lost in the woods, who looks like they need help.” McCree saw a flash of darkness in Genji’s eyes. “And when Angela’s not around, I deal with those who are looking to hurt people.”

 

McCree nodded and drank again. “So you two help kids find their lost puppies, that sort of thing?” he asked, choosing to focus on the former activity.

 

“Angela does that. I don’t show myself to the humans.” McCree frowned and studied him, because he knew his famous and feared demons, and Genji was not one. And Angela did not keep beings who were threats, much less patrol with them. Seeing his confusion, Genji waved a hand over his face. “I mean. They don’t tend to react well to this.” 

 

“You’re not scary,” McCree said automatically. Genji rolled his eyes.

 

“Yeah, I get it. You’re tough.”

 

“No, I mean–” He set down the bottle and pulled out a new cigar, weaving it between his fingers. “I mean, if I were lost in these woods, and you came out and told me you would help me out, I’d trust you.” 

 

“No you wouldn’t.”

 

“Okay, I would if I was really lost and desperate! Or if I got a chance to talk to you. You’re not too bad, once you get to talkin’.”

 

“I’m honored,” Genji said. He had a little smile on his face and McCree could not take his eyes off it. “But–” He tapped a long canine. “–there’s nothing I could say to take away these, could I?”

 

“Your fangs aren’t that bad,” McCree said. Genji rolled his eyes. 

 

“My feelings aren’t hurt, McCree, this is just what it is–”

 

McCree lay down next to Genji, and wriggled closer to him. Genji turned his head and met his eyes. McCree was used to seeing fear in demon eyes but this was a different kind, something more open and vulnerable, all truth. So McCree shut his eyes and leaned in and kissed him. Genji was stiff for a moment, then relaxed and kissed him back. Then McCree felt a slight twinge and he reached up and touched his lip. Genji rolled away and covered his face with his hands.

 

“I told you,” he said, as McCree giggled, wiping the blood on the grass. “I warned you about the damn teeth–” McCree stopped laughing, and shook Genji. Genji dropped his hands from his face and sat up, and looked where McCree was pointing. He saw Satya running towards a yellow portal in the center of the village, Mei hopping behind her.

 

“That’s Angela’s magic,” Genji said. McCree nodded, a lump in his throat. 

 

“They did it,” he said. “They’re coming home.” And Genji did not question his use of the plural or the confidence McCree forced into his voice. He just took McCree’s hand and they waited, together.

 

-

 

Angela stepped back from the portal and looked at the small crowd gathered around it. “Are you ready, Pharah?”

 

Pharah nodded, and turned to her mother. “Come to the temple before you leave,” she told her. “I should be back later tonight.” 

 

“I will,” Ana said. “If you promise to visit my plane more often. We all miss you, dear.” The Reaper– his vampiric form shed, now in a brown and black cloak with a jack-o-lantern head– nodded vigorously. Pharah laughed and leaned in and hugged her. As she did, the Widow caught her eye over Ana’s shoulder. As she righted herself, Pharah whispered something in Ana’s ear. Try as the Widow might, this she could not hear. Then Pharah raised a hand and followed Angela through the portal, which disappeared behind her. Ana turned to Sombra and the Widow.

 

“Right,” she said to Sombra. “I suppose you did your job, then.” Sombra nodded shortly and Ana studied her, inscrutable with her orange mask. “But I know you’re not happy with our deal.” 

 

“I don’t suppose you’re interested in renegotiating.”

 

“No,” said Ana. “I’m not.” The Widow’s stomach dropped as Sombra’s chin dipped down, her mouth a flat line. “You being able to pass on is a privilege. What Moira did disrupted the natural order. It will take the Reaper and I a long, long time to find and corral all the lost souls, and to evaluate the scope of her influence. You should be grateful.”

 

Sombra’s starlight eyes glinted and she looked up. “That’s right,” she said. “There are a lot of lost souls, aren’t there?” 

 

The Reaper shifted on his feet. Next to him, Jack narrowed his eyes. “Yes,” the Reaper said slowly. 

 

“And it would probably be useful if you had someone on the ground, wouldn’t it?” Sombra asked. “Someone who was skilled at necromantic magic, who was familiar with your plane, who has–” she nudged the Reaper, “–worked with both of you before…”

 

The Reaper looked at Sombra, then at the Goddess. She folded her arms. Sombra smiled. 

 

“And about more Moira’s,” Sombra said. “She got you in the first place because she learned your true name and bound you, didn’t she?” The Reaper nodded. Sombra’s smile grew. “Well, what if your new coworker knew how to keep you from ever being bound by that name again?”

 

The orange light around the Goddess burned brighter. The Widow cleared her throat and raised her hand. “She does know how to do that. She told me a while ago.” 

 

Ana turned to the Widow. “And what would you have me do with her?” she asked drily.

 

“You said it yourself,” Sombra said. “Moira disrupted the natural order. So don’t you think it’s only natural that her victims get a break?”

 

Ana looked between the two women, the walked close to Sombra. “If you had not saved my Reaper,” she said in a low, quiet voice, that hummed down the Widow’s spine. “If you weren’t capable of protecting him further. Then I would not give you anything.”

 

“But I did and I am,” Sombra said, just as quietly. She and the Goddess stared at each other, starlight eyes and the orange marks of the mask. Then Ana turned and walked away. She stood with her back to them and whispered a word, and an orange portal opened before her. She walked back to Sombra and the Widow.

 

“That will take you back to your manor,” she told them. “Go, before I change my mind.”

 

Sombra smiled broader than ever. “Talk to you later,” she said to the Reaper, slapping his pumpkin cheek as she walked past him. He said nothing and Jack rolled his eyes, but the Widow heard the Reaper chuckle quietly. Sombra stopped by the portal and looked back at the Widow expectantly. The Widow started towards her, but Ana laid a hand on her arm, and she turned to her.

 

“I meant what I said before,” Ana said quietly. “About it being a privilege. An adventure. I understand why you’re following Sombra. But I hope you’re not doing this just because you’re afraid of the unknown.”

 

The Widow looked over her shoulder to Sombra, looking an affected sort of bored in front of the portal. “I’m not,” she told the Goddess. Ana sighed but even with her mask in the place, the Widow could swear she was smiling. The Widow walked to the portal and took Sombra’s hand and they stepped through to the Chateau, together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this because I was thrilled we were getting Spiderbyte Halloween matching skins, and wanted to come up with a story for them. I had a ton of fun planning this out and writing it, but it's not a main ship, and so I wasn't sure what to expect in terms of reception. And you all have been so, so good to me. I'm gratefully to everyone who's commented or messaged me, but I especially want to thank [Jo](http://fewines.tumblr.com/) for always leaving long, thoughtful comments, and the aforementioned [svntysix](http://svntysix.tumblr.com/post/179828200634/read-the-huntress) and [icewuerfelchen](http://icewuerfelchen.tumblr.com/post/179869176143/sombra-took-a-deep-shuddering-breath-she-put-her) as well as [collophora](http://collophora.tumblr.com/) and bloomingcnidarians for making amazing art of this. Writing is always the most fun for me when I get to engage with cool people around ideas and you guys have just given so much of that to me over the past few weeks. I really don't know what I did to deserve all your enthusiasm and generosity but please know I am unbelievably grateful and know that I am so lucky. Thank you guys.
> 
> A note about this 'verse– I have some ideas for stories I want to write here, in particular a Pharmercy prequel and a Island of Lost Demons sequel (I gotta do something with Lúcio's vampire icon and Hana's Destroyer skin). But I have grad school and some other writing obligations on the horizon, so I couldn't give you all an eta for those. If you want updates/to talk to me about the Vampire Bard skin Blizzard needs to add next year, please feel free to message me on either of the socials below!

**Author's Note:**

> I knew I was fucked the second I found out the name of the Demon Hunter skin and so here we are.
> 
> I'm @tactialgrandma on tumblr/twitter if you want to talk to me there.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I'm really excited about this series and so any comments/kudos would mean so much to me <3


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